


The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man

by CptScarlett



Series: The Women Who Saved Them [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Mycroft, Holmes Brothers, Meet the Family, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is a Softie, Original Character(s), POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Original Character, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CptScarlett/pseuds/CptScarlett
Summary: What could bring together an American working for Scotland Yard and a man in a 'minor position' in the British government?What might melt the Ice Man, and what could strike fear into the heart of he who has faced down terrorists and negotiated with countless governments?Perhaps, in the end, caring -does- have its advantages.*This is lots of fluff, add in some sass, and a dash of intrigue and adventure.**I'm an American, and I apologize in advance if I get some British bits and pieces wrong. Also, this is fan fiction, so except a dash of OOC and AU because that's what makes fanfic fun. :)***My original characters and the plot are mine, The Holmes brothers and their family and friends sadly don't belong to me.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Women Who Saved Them [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049408
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. The Way We Met

**Author's Note:**

> A fun idea that struck me while at the grocery store over the Thanksgiving Holiday. I considered--what would it be like for Mycroft Holmes if he came to the US to meet his girlfriend's family? What you are about to read is what blew up from that idea.

Sophia Cartwright sat in her lab surrounded my computers and technology. Strewn across tables were various pieces of equipment, in various states of disassembly. Sophia was Scotland Yard’s newest digital forensic specialist. It was her job to perform forensic analysis of various technology found at crime scenes. At times she also assisted with research for investigations as it related to technology. Today she was backlogged and trudging through an encrypted hard drive working to access the information.

That was, until a voice called out from behind her. “You.”

She spun around and saw a tall, lanky curly haired man standing at the door to her lab. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the American that Lestrade has talked about. The one who is a supposed genius with computers.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “And you’re Sherlock Holmes, the high functioning sociopath who runs around London solving crimes.”

“Not just London.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I won’t box you in if you don’t me. I’m not just good with computers, Mr. Holmes. If it has a chip, I can hack it, trace it, read it… you get the idea.”

He grinned. “Perfect. I need you to hack into this phone.”

“Excuse me? Sherlock Holmes wants me to hack a phone for him? I thought you were the super-genius. Can’t figure out the password?”

“It’s more than just password locked,” he said, holding out the black smart phone to her.

She started to reach out for it, then pulled back. “Nope. I don’t think so. I’m not getting into the middle of one of your messes. Not without authorization.”

Sherlock hesitated only the briefest of moments. “This phone belongs to one of James Moriarty’s last living associates. The information on this phone is of vital importance to national—to global—security.”

She peered at him through squinted eyes a moment. “I think you’re lying.”

“I think you couldn’t hack it if you tried,” he bit back.

“You’re baiting me.”

“Is it working?” he asked.

She huffed and snatched the phones out of his hand, placing it onto a mat at her station. “Yes.”

Just before her finger touched a key on her keyboard another voice spoke up.

“If your finger touches a single key on that keyboard, you will be locked up for the rest of your life for crimes against the British government.”

She spun back around, as did Sherlock Holmes, who looked at his watch. “Forty-eight minutes. You’re getting slow.”

“You’re getting brazen—stealing my phone and bringing it to Scotland Yard to try and have it hacked? Do you have any idea what information is on that phone?”

“Juicy gossip, I gather, by the encryption,” Sherlock said with a grin.

Sophia growled, picked up the phone up, and marched it over to the man. “My deepest apologies, sir. Mr. Holmes led me to believe this phone belonged to an associate of James Moriarty.”

Mycroft huffed and snatched the phone from her. “Yes well, perhaps you shouldn’t be so gullible.”

Sophia scoffed and drew back in disgust at his attitude. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so rude.”

“Perhaps the Metropolitan Police needs to examine it’s HR policies, allowing an American to work on the force.”

“Perhaps Metro Police needs to examine its entrance policies, allowing a pompous government jerk to walk in the building,” she snapped back, then cringed at her own behavior and squeezed her eyes shut. She had a policy of never fighting mean with mean, always kill them with kindness.

He frowned. “How did you know I worked for the government?”

She rolled her eyes. “Discreet, black, unmarked phone. Obviously heavily encrypted if Sherlock Holmes couldn’t break into it. Not to mention your pricey suit and tie. And there’s your pale complexion and dress shoes that haven’t been scuffed because all you ever do is sit behind a desk. And there’s the obvious threat that I’d be locked up for crimes against the British government. If you can do that, and whatever is on that phone is worth that penalty, you’re higher up on the food chain as well, I’d imagine.”

Neither of them could see that Sherlock Holmes was grinning from ear to ear behind them as they were too busy staring each other down.

She stared at him and took a deep breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do, and you two will get out of my lab. You’ve wasted enough of my time.” She turned on her heel and marched back to her desk, ignoring as the two men looked at each other, then to her, and then left.

Two hours later she was still sitting at her desk, working on the encryption. Suddenly, she’d found the key and unlocked it. “Hah! Yes!”

“Congratulations on your victory,” a now familiar voice called from her doorway.

She spun back around and frowned. “What are you doing back here?”

“I came to apologize.”

Her eyebrow raised. “I’ve known you for all of two minutes and I already get the impression that apologies aren’t something you do.”

“They’re not.”

“Then why now.”

“Because—just because. My anger should have been directed at my childish brother, not you. I was rude, and disrespectful.”

She stood, mouth agape, for a moment, before making a decision. “Very well, apology accepted. You can go now.”

She turned back to her work, ignoring the fact she could tell he was still standing in the doorway.

“You could have done it, couldn’t you?”

“What?”

“Hacked my phone.”

She smirked. “Undoubtedly.”

“You should be working for me.”

She turned back around. “For you?”

“For the British government.”

“Me? An _American_?” she said, recalling his earlier statement.

“I apologized for that.”

“Not directly, you didn’t.”

He sighed. “You are obviously competent at your job. It was unfair of me to use your nationality against you.”

“Yes, it was. But I did say I’d forgive you. I apologize for biting back at you earlier. Even if you were rude, I don’t usually let it get to me. I have a strict ‘kill them with kindness’ policy.”

“I apologize for goading you into breaking your policy, then. I could tell it bothered you to be unkind. But about the job—”

“Did you come back here to offer me a job?”

“No, I came back to apologize. But a job offer seems a logical addition to the conversation.”

“Well, thank you, but no thank you. I’ve done government work before—for the US government. I believe I’ll stick to what I’ve got right here.”

“Very well. I’m not convinced that you’ve truly forgiven me, however.”

“I’m not convinced that you’re truly apologetic, so we’ll just both have to get over it, I suppose.”

The well-dressed man considered her a moment before making a calculated decision and approaching her. He stood a few feet away and extended his hand. “Mycroft Holmes, I occupy a minor position in the British government.”

She raised an eyebrow, but then stood and accepted his hand. “Sophia Cartwright, I occupy this lovely lab and a minor position in the Metropolitan Police.”

He gave a slight smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cartwright.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” she said with a smirk. “So, you are—Sherlock Holmes brother?”

“Elder brother, yes.”

“Minor position?”

“Pardon?’

“You said you occupy a ‘minor position’ in the British government. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, as much as I’d love to continue this chat—I really must get back to work. I just unlocked quite a few juicy secrets, and though they won’t be nearly as enlightening as I’m sure the ones on your phone might have been—these might just give us the information we need to derail a drug ring in the city.”

“Well then, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

She nodded and turned back to her desk and heard him begin to move away. When she figured he was to the door, she called out. “It was nice to meet you too, Mr. Holmes.”

“Please, do call me Mycroft,” he said.

She smiled and continued her work.

*****

Over the next several days it was released that they had indeed brought down a network of drug dealers in the city of London. Mycroft had followed the news, and though her name was never mentioned—as people in her position rarely ever get the credit—he knew that it was because of her work. He, in his position, had ‘retrieved’ her phone number from the Metro Police database and was now staring down at a text message he’d begun to her number. The fingers of his free hand, the one not holding the phone, tapped at his desk for a moment before he finally tapped out a message.

_Good job on the work you did to bring down the drug dealer network. ~M.H._

He set his phone aside and did his best to proceed with his work, going over several files before his phone vibrated against the desk next to him. He picked it up quickly.

_Thank you. Do you often hack the police database to get employee mobile phone numbers? ~S.C._

_Just this once. ~MH_

_I feel… honored? Or creeped out. It’s undecided. ~SC_

_I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable. I shall leave you be, I merely wished to congratulate you again on a job well done. ~MC_

_Thank you. ~SC_

****

And that was that—for two weeks. Sophia was standing at one of her worktables, bent slightly over a computer, wearing magnifying goggles to assist with close examination of the motherboard, when a familiar voice called out from the doorway.

“I was wondering if you might be able to assist me with something,”

She jumped ever so slightly and looked up. Mycroft smirked at the sight of her bright green eyes magnified through the goggles before she flipped them up and scowled at him. “You could knock or something.”

“Apologies.”

“You seem to do that a lot with me.”

“What’s that?”

“Apologize.”

“Indeed.”

“What does the British government need assistance with?”

He held up a laptop he’d been holding in one hand at his side.

“I’m not computer tech support, Mycroft. I’m not going to clean the virus off your laptop.”

He snorted. “Indeed, you’re not. This is not my laptop. Before I continue, you should know I’ve received the authorization of your superior that, if you accept, you may do the job here in your lab. But I am in a bit of a rush, so I’m afraid you’ll need to make your decision rather quickly.”

“How do I know—” she was interrupted by a text notification on her phone. His eyebrow raised and he gently nodded towards her phone that sat by her on the worktable. She picked it up.

_Mycroft Holmes headed your way. You’re authorized to help if you want. You can also say no, if you want. I told him I wasn’t ordering you to do work for the government. ~RD_

She raised an eyebrow. “You could have faked that text message.”

He looked at her incredulously. “Then call him. But please do hurry.”

“I will,” she said before tapping a button on her phone. He rolled his eyes as he waited. “Mr. Downey—just confirming that text was from you. Yes, sir. Thank you.” She hung up. “Alright, tell me what it is, and I’ll tell you if I agree to do it.”

“This laptop belongs to an enemy of the government—both the British _and_ the American governments, I might add. I need you to hack into it and download the information on to a secure drive.”

“Why me? You have people that can do this.”

“Because you are better than the people I have.”

She blinked. “What’s the rush?”

He frowned. “My ‘people’ as you call them began the work and apparently did a pitiful job. They tripped something and now there is a countdown on the computer indicating that when the time is up, all data will be erased. We need that data, Mrs. Cartwright. It is vital.”

She looked between him and the laptop before sliding herself over on her rolling stool to an empty spot on the table and holding out her hand. “Here. Now.”

He handed it to her, and she unlatched it and immediately frowned. “Oy, this is ugly.”

“Can you do it?”

“You said I’m the best. Are you questioning me now?”

“Just checking.”

“Hush now, I’m thinking.”

Mycroft stood by her side, watching as her fingers began flying over the keys and gliding across the mouse pad. Exactly twenty-three minutes later, she was plugging in a hard drive. At twenty-eight minutes the data was downloaded. Thirty seconds later, smoke began to pour out of the keys. Quickly she snatched up the laptop and ran it over to an enclosure, threw it in and slammed the door shut, locking it tight. Within moments there was a popping sound and she looked in through a viewing port. “Well, the good news is, it wouldn’t have killed us, but it certainly killed the computer.”

“But you got it. You retrieved the data,” he said as he glanced between her and the hard drive that sat on the worktable.

She walked back over to the table and picked up the drive, about the size of her palm. “I did.” She started to hand it to him, then pulled it back. “What if I’d said no?”

“What do you mean?”

“My boss said I could have said no. I could have turned you down. What if I’d turned you down?” she said eying him carefully.

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have. There is no way you could have gotten back to your people with that laptop in the twenty-nine minutes we had to get it unlocked and downloaded. You could have been sitting on a bomb on the drive over.”

“It wasn’t a bomb.”

“Were you setting me up? Was this some sort of test? Are you still trying to recruit me? Was the laptop even real? Is that data actually important or is it your grandmother’s secret recipes?”

“My grandmother’s secret recipes are important,” he said with a smirk. “But that is not what is held on that device in your hands. I wasn’t lying. It belonged to an enemy of both the British and American governments.”

“Belonged? Past tense?”

“He was killed in the early hours of this morning.”

“So, you still haven’t answered my question—what if I’d said no.”

“I took a calculated risk. You accepted and performed exactly as I thought you would. Better than my own people.”

“I’m not coming to work for you, Mycroft.”

“That’s a shame. But I still thank you for your assistance. May I have the drive, now?”

She held it out to him. He took hold of it, but she didn’t let go. “If you wanted to see me, you could have just stopped by. Or called. You _do_ have my number.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it back. She grinned and released the hard drive. “Have a good day, Mycroft,” she said before sitting back down on her stool and sliding back towards the computer she’d been working on before his arrival, flipping the magnifiers back down over her eyes.


	2. A Date?

Sophia Cartwright laid back on her sofa with a deep sigh, allowing herself to sink into it and fully relax. It had been a long week, but she’d finally caught up on all her work. It was at the beginning of the week that she’d had her exciting visit from Mycroft Holmes. She wondered about the data she’d downloaded to the hard drive for him. As if on cue, her phone chimed from her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was from Mycroft Holmes. She had saved his number into her contacts. This message was a photo. She pulled it up and saw a photo of a newspaper article. The headline read. “10 British citizens, 5 Americans, rescued after being held by terrorist for over six months” A text quickly followed.

_You did that. Good work. ~MH_

She swallowed. He hadn’t been lying. She let out a breath and calmed her heartbeat before texting back.

_Still not coming to work for you. ~SC_

She jumped when her phone rang in her hand and Mycroft’s name appeared. She swallowed. “Hello?”

“Why not?”

“Pardon?”

“Why won’t you come to work for me?”

“Because, despite what you say, I have to believe that there are equally talented individuals working for the British government. Between MI5, MI6, and whatever alphabet and numerical combinations there might be—I am sure the talent is there.”

“Not nearly as easy to get along with, however.”

“Your opinion of me has changed drastically from our initial meeting.”

“It has. And I apologized.”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t forgiven you. Just stating a fact. But you know, you’ve revealed your cards, Mycroft.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Easy to get along with? You simply want to have me close by so that you can see me more often,” she said, making sure the hard swallow that followed was silent. She wasn’t giving away that she was terrified by her own bold flirtation in this moment.

She was met with silence. It worried her even more. Perhaps she’d read his cards wrong. Finally, he spoke. “You’re absolutely certain that you will not come to work for the British government.”

She couldn’t deny she was disappointed that he hadn’t taken the bait and admitted he liked her and/or her company. She supposed now that she had read him incorrectly. But she was still certain of her answer. “I am positive.”

“Good,” he stated.

“I’m confused, now.”

“If you are firm in the decision that you will not be coming to work for the British government, then what I’m about to ask cannot be viewed at all inappropriate,” he explained.

“And that would be—” She was trying to keep up but was still confused at his turn of opinion on her working for ‘him.’

“Would you join me for dinner this evening, Sophia?”

Her mouth dropped open and she sat up, swinging her legs back off the side of the couch. “Come again?”

“Would you join me for dinner? Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

She blinked, then a smile grew on her face. She had been right. Mr. British Government, Mycroft Holmes, did like her. Her grin grew even wider before responding. “How do you know I’m not married?”

“You don’t wear a wedding ring, have a tan line or imprint where it would be, or wear any jewelry of significance. You aren’t married.”

“Perhaps I’m dating someone.”

“It’s too late—you have revealed _your_ cards to me as well, Sophia. A simple yes or no will suffice. I won’t bother you anymore if your choice is no.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Where should I meet you.”

He paused, and she wondered if he’d smiled. “I’ll pick you up at your flat. Good day, Sophia.”

“Good day, Mycroft.” And with that, the phone connection ended, and she fell back against the back of the couch.

For a brief moment, she frowned as she considered that she hadn’t given him her address. Then she rolled her eyes and smiled. She was going on a date with Mr. British Government himself. Mycroft Holmes—he’d found her phone number; she was sure he knew her address as well.

****

Sophia stood in her closet, one thick purple towel wrapped around her torso, another wrapped around her head. She stared at her clothing and considered what she should wear. Without clear instructions as to what dress she should wear, she began making deductions, just like both Holmes brothers she now knew about. She’d done some more research on them after her first meeting with the men. She could assume, based all she’d gathered about Mycroft, that he was well off. His suits were custom and well-tailored. Both times she’d seen him, and in the rare photos she’d found in news articles, he was always in a suit and tie, always dressed in the same impeccable style. She had the feeling that he rarely wore anything else and imagined he wouldn’t go outside the norm for a first date, especially without alerting her to it. So, she’d need to dress to somewhat match his normal style. She rarely wore dresses, so she didn’t have a lot to choose from.

An hour later she stood in front of the mirror and examined the purple cocktail dress she’d chosen. It had a plunging V neck and back, but was modest to her liking, hugging her curves just right. In the front it reached just below her knees and in the back below her calves to her ankles. She smiled and slipped on matching purple flats and released her brown hair from the bun she’d had it in. Her hair, now dried, had natural wave thanks to the twists it had been put up in. It was her classic trick to no-fuss hair style.

She glanced at her watch to see it was just a few minutes before seven, so she left her room and headed downstairs. At precisely seven o’clock, the doorbell rang.

She approached the door, picking up her black handbag on the way and opened the door to find Mycroft Holmes standing on the other side, hands behind his back, one gripping his umbrella. He had bounced back on his heels and came back down to stand straight as the door opened fully.

“Hello,” she said softly and smiled, already unable to hide the blush in her cheeks as he looked her over.

“Good evening. You look… radiant.”

More blushing. “Thank you,” she said quietly with a shy smile.

He held his arm out and turned halfway towards the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

She nodded. “We shall,” before locking the door behind her, carefully placing her hand around his elbow, and walking with him to the black car that awaited at the street.

“Thank you for joining me this evening,” he added.

“It seemed only fair, to make up for disappointing you about the job offer.”

He paused at the door, as he was just about to open it for her. A frown fell on his face. “Is that the only reason you accepted?”

She smiled softly at him, “No, Mycroft,” she said gently. “It’s not the only reason. I was just joking.”

He smiled then. “Good. Very good.” He then opened the door and motioned for her to enter before following and sliding in next to her.

“I should have known you’d have your own private car with a driver. Mr. ‘Minor Position’ in the Government, my eye. I already asked you once if you really expected me to believe that.”

The car began moving once he’d settled in and he turned to her. “I don’t flaunt my position on purpose, Sophia, but I do enjoy the fruits of my labor, in things such as this car.”

“And your suits,” she said with a smile. “You look very nice this evening as well, Mycroft. I forgot to mention it earlier.”

He smiled as well. “Thank you.”

“So—am I correct that you couldn’t even tell me what position you hold, what you do, if you wanted to?”

“Suffice it to say, I do quite a lot, and much of it is confidential and top secret. Some of it is not, and at times I may be able to discuss things generally. But most likely never in detail or directly.”

“I understand,” she said with a smile. He was speaking as if there would be many conversations to come for them, and she didn’t find it an unpleasant thought.

“I thought you would. You said you’ve done some work for the government.”

“I’m sure by now you know what my clearance was and all about my job history,” she said with a knowing smile.

“I like to do my research. Does that bother you?”

She shrugged. “I have nothing to hide from you.”

“Yet I have many things I must hide from you. That isn’t disturbing?”

She’d been looking out the window quite a bit as they drove but turned fully towards him at that question. “Is it your intention to knowingly and willfully hide things from me that _aren’t_ related to your job, things that a ‘normal’ or ‘average’ person would generally tell someone if they were venturing into a relationship with them?”

“I am guarded about my personal life, but not unwilling to attempt to give a measure of trust.”

“Then we’ll agree to this—if you feel uncomfortable telling me something personal, simply tell me that. Don’t hide it, just say you aren’t comfortable discussing it. If the conversation ventures into something related to your job that you _cannot_ tell, then say that as well. I don’t expect you to reveal your life history to me overnight, nor do I expect you to share state secrets. I do expect a level of transparency and honesty. Does that make sense.”

He hesitated only the briefest of moments before giving her a small smile. “Perfect sense.”

“Good.”

“I would expect the same from you, then,” he added.

“As I said, I have nothing to hide.”

“Still though, with your job, I’m sure there’s information you can’t release to the public.”

“That is correct. I have a funny feeling you could find other ways of obtaining that information. But you can be certain that you won’t be receiving information from me.”

He gazed at her a moment. “I find your forthrightness to be refreshing,” he stated.

She blushed. She imagined that such compliments didn’t overflow from Mycroft Holmes’ lips, and when he did give them, he meant them. “That’s a change of pace. Most men find me intimidating or irritating.”

“Most women find me pompous, arrogant, and cold.”

“And I would venture to guess most women don’t challenge you on it—they may say it, but then they just walk away, don’t they? No second chances, opportunities to do better, no expectation of change, just walking away,” she said, just a little bit gentler, as if she knew it might be a sore subject.

“Perhaps,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “You’re different though, aren’t you?”

“We should all be challenged to be better people. We can all work to be kinder, more caring people. I don’t expect perfection—that doesn’t exist. You’ll find that I am willing to forgive, willing to give second, even third and fourth chances—if it’s clear one is actually _trying_ to do and be better. Making improvements, no matter how infinitesimal.”

Had Mycroft Holmes not been who he was, he might be squirming in his seat. Did she have any idea who she was talking to? Mycroft Holmes, who had time and time again reminded his brother that ‘caring was a disadvantage’. The man whose nickname was ‘Ice Man.’

As if she heard his thoughts, she spoke again, more softly. “I don’t care who you’ve been Mycroft, as much as I care who you’re becoming.” She then sighed and gave a light chuckle. “I suppose this has all gotten rather serious for a first date. It’s my turn to apologize.”

“Don’t apologize for being who you are, Sophia. It’s part of what makes you attractive, even to a man with a reputation like mine.”

“Very well, I won’t apologize.”

The car pulled to a stop. “We’re here—shall we go inside?”

“You haven’t scared me off yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

With that he nodded and opened the door, stepping out and allowing her to slip out beside him and closing the door. She'd given him quite a lot to think about. At the very least, they'd make it through their first date. He'd see where things went from there--then he'd decide if it might be worth... improving... as she'd said.


	3. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward: One year has passed since their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote the story, this is where it began. But once I'd reached a certain point, I realized that I really wanted to write in detail how they'd met, so I went back. Here we are where the writing technically 'began'.

Sophia took her seat across the table from Mycroft Holmes at the familiar posh restaurant in London. She’d met Mycroft after only living in London for about six months. The two of them had known each other now for just over a year and a few months. She looked around as Mycroft gave their drink order to the waiter. He was much more knowledgeable about fine wines and, until they’d begun dating, he was also much more accustomed to dining at places as fine as this one. Even now, it still felt a bit strange.

“I remember this place,” she said as she continued to look around.

“I’m sorry, my dear, to have taken you so far out of your element for tonight’s dinner,” Mycroft said, observing her carefully.

She blushed, as she usually did, under his careful gaze. At times, he could read her so well. “I’m sorry you noticed that I was the least bit uncomfortable, Mycroft. It’s not that I wasn’t used to dining at a variety of restaurants before we began dating, it’s just more frequent now, and before a place as nice as this was more the rarity than the common occurrence. You certainly don’t need to apologize. It’s less about being uncomfortable, and more about still being a bit in awe that I have the opportunity afforded me to be at places like this more often. All that to say—I still tend to pinch myself when I consider that I’m dating Mycroft Holmes.

“It shouldn’t be _that_ surprising. I am known to have incredibly good taste in all things.” He said with a knowing smile that Sophia would understand the compliment to her. “If I’m honest, I’ve been continually mystified as well by this turn in my life. I never expected I’d want love, much less find it, especially in a beautiful American digital forensic specialist.” They smiled at each other fondly and watched as the waiter poured their wine. When done, Mycroft gave him a curt smile and a polite, “Thank you.” They placed their order and once the waiter had gone, Mycroft turned to her. “Happy Anniversary, Sophia. Here’s to many more.”

Her eyes almost instantly teared up. “You remembered. I—I wasn’t sure you would. I knew this was the place we went—on our first date—but I wasn’t sure if it was just coincidence. I didn’t know if it would be that important. You have so many things to think about for work and your brother and—”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “And you. You are important and always in my thoughts. It’s been a year since I grew brave enough to ask you on our first date. Of course, remembering this date is important to me. Being with you has changed my life.” He paused and smiled sweetly at her. “For the better, if that wasn’t clear enough.”

“Happy Anniversary, Mycroft,” she said with a soft smile before tapping her glass against his.

Once he was satisfied that he’d properly given recognition to the occasion, he moved on to the next topic he’d hoped to broach this evening. “We haven’t yet had the opportunity to discuss the holidays this year. Will you be having to work again?”

Sophia worked for Scotland Yard doing digital forensics. Last year, being your first and still new to the job, you accepted that you’d be working through Christmas. This year, however, would be different. “No, I’ll have time off.”

“Very good. I was tempted to offer to speak to someone myself, though I know you detest me using my influence in such a way,” he said with a hint of frustration on his part. He was accustomed to using his power to get what he wanted. Having a happy girlfriend was of chief concern to him. But very early on they’d had several arguments about it and he’d, for the most part, acquiesced to her wishes.

“I do, and it won’t be necessary. I’ve _earned_ a nice holiday this year thanks to taking very little time through the year.”

“You do work incredibly hard, so it is certainly much deserved. That brings me to my next question. I’ll be spending Christmas Eve and Day at my parent’s cottage, with Sherlock. I believe John and Rosie will be coming along as well. I wondered; would you join me?”

Sophia looked down, sad to have to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, Mycroft. I—can’t.”

His heart seized in his chest. Had you already made plans with friends? “Oh. I see. Well—”

“I’d love to, I really would. But—well, I haven’t visited home since I moved here. I’ve missed so many holidays with my family. Just last night I promised my parents I’d join them for Christmas this year.”

“Quite the travel plans—all the way back to America for Christmas.”

“Yes, my parents’ home in North Carolina. I am so sorry, Mycroft. I truly would love to finally meet your parents and join you for Christmas. I’d planned on talking to you about it tonight.”

“Have you purchased your plane ticket yet?”

“No, I need to do that tonight. I wanted to speak to you first to see when we might be able to spend some time together before—or after. I’m going to miss you so much while I’m gone,” she said as she gently squeezed his hand.

The waiter approached and placed their plates in front of them. They both picked up their forks to begin eating, but seemed lost in thought. They’d both been working up their courage and suddenly, Sophia spoke up at the same time Mycroft did.

“Would you join me?” she asked.

At the same time he said, “I could join you.”

They both smiled wide and a nervous chuckle escaped their lips before she spoke again. “Truly? You’d come with me to the US for Christmas holiday? But your parents Mycroft—I don’t want them hating me before they’ve even met me. Would you really want to do this?”

“Spending Christmas with you is what I care about, love. If it be in America, or Tanzania, or in Santa’s workshop at the North Pole.”

She giggled at his passion and care for her, and his extravagant way of explaining it sometimes. But then her breath was taken away at the excitement that this might work out. “I’d love for you to meet my parents. And my brother and his family will be there. But—what about your family, Mycroft?”

“My dear, I am afforded the pain of handling them year round. Rare is your opportunity to see your family, and as much as I desire for you to become acquainted with my family, I am sure meeting yours will be even more pleasant.”

*****

Soon they were walking back towards Sophia’s flat with her arm looped through his and her other hand tucked around his arm as well. “I love Christmas. And I’m even more excited about Christmas now than I was before, Mycroft. It means so much to me that you would come. You really are certain?”

“I should be asking you that. You know how I handle social situations. You’re certain you want me there?”

“I love you for who you are. And just consider the significant steps towards improvement you’ve made over the past year. We love each other flaws and all. If you allow my parents to see what I see in you, then I think they’ll like you.”

“I shall do my best, my dear. Will you call your parents and be sure they are fine with it? I’ll need their address so I can arrange a hotel for my stay.”

“Always the gentlemen. By now an average man would be assuming we’ll share a room.”

“I’m fairly certain, my love, that we’ve established I am _no_ ‘average man’,” Mycroft commented, only a slight upturn to his thin lips.

She squeezed his arm gently. “There’s an extra guest room at their house that I’m sure you are welcome to stay in, Mycroft. My mother would be appalled at the idea of you staying at a hotel—as would I.”

“What about your brother and his family?”

“There’s a fully furnished apartment above the garage with a private bathroom and extra beds that he and his wife and boys usually stay in when they visit.”

“Very well, but I would still like for you to be sure your parents find the idea of me joining you to be acceptable.”

Before he could argue she’d slipped her phone out of her pocket and was dialing the number. She held the phone to her ear and leaned into him, squeezing his arm again as they walked. After a few moments, she was speaking. “Hi mom! …Yes, we just finished dinner and are walking back to my flat… Oh, you looked up the restaurant?” She grinned and smiled up at Mycroft. “Yes, it was very fancy yes… the food _was_ delicious… yes, he does have very good taste…” She paused, listening to her mother, and grinned up at Mycroft yet again. “Yes, he did remember it was our anniversary… I know, he is a keeper. Speaking of that, mom, we were wondering—how would you feel about Mycroft coming along for Christmas?” She held the phone away from her ear for a moment and Mycroft could hear a loud noise through the phone. Sophia laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes then? Alright, we’ll make our flight arrangements and let you know when we’ll be coming in and leaving, alright? I should go now, but I love you mom. Tell dad I love him, too. Alright—yes, okay—bye now.” She hung up the phone and grinned again. “I told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Apparently not. Is she always that excitable?”

Sophia chuckled. “Only over American football and the idea of her middle-aged daughter finally bringing a boy home for Christmas.”

Mycroft hummed, happy at the idea of being ‘the boy’ whom Sophia would be taking home. It was all still a bit foreign to him, even a year into their relationship. Happiness was something he’d grown accustomed to not having, but the past year had warmed his cold Ice-Man heart, at least with Sophia, and somewhat towards his family and ‘friends’. When it came to work, he was still rather cold and calculated, and at times had a hard time separating the two, but he found Sophia to be incredibly patient when he forgot to ‘turn off the work attitude’ as she put it. 

As if she’d heard his mind turn to work, she spoke up, “It just occurred to me, Mycroft—what about your work? The British government doesn’t take a holiday for Christmas. And you are so… important. Will you be able to take a few days?”

“I will have to be on call, as always. But barring a national emergency I should be able to have at least a few quiet days. I’ll have to bring along my work laptop and a few things to be prepared, just in case.”

“I don’t see a problem with that. Having you there will make it worth interruptions.”

“Very good, then. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to take care of our travel arrangements. Just send me the dates you’d considered and the nearest airport, and I’ll work it all out.”

She gave a small sigh, not of distress, but a sigh nonetheless. “You’re going to use the private jet, aren’t you, Mycroft.”

“Safe, secure, and comfortable. Yes, dear, indeed I am.”

“My brother is going to call me a spoiled brat.”

“Spoiled, perhaps, but not a brat. I intend to continue to spoil you as long as you’ll have me, dear.”

“I do believe I’ll keep you around for many more years, that is, if you don’t grow tired of my goldfish brain,” Sophia said, squeezing his arm to indicate she was joking.

It still bothered him, however. “As I have insisted many times, my dear, you are no goldfish. And I wish Sherlock hadn’t told you I’d made that comment. It wasn’t one of my finer moments, considering how you’ve opened up my heart to being more caring and considerate.”

“I can understand why you grow weary, Mycroft. To have a brain that works like yours. And I _do_ know you’ve worked very hard to change your outlook on others. As I’ve said before, and as I know you’ve tried to take to heart—we are all stuck on this planet together, and we are all alike in that we are born and we die. Death doesn’t discriminate based on IQ level. Kindness doesn’t have to, either.”

“I know, my dear. The depth of your kindness, care, and concern for others is one of the things that drew me to you, even if at first I couldn’t understand it.”


	4. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has faced down terrorists, government leaders, and his own family. Why does Sophia's father strike fear in his heart?

“Mycroft, look! There they are!” She exclaimed as she peered out the window of the private jet, they were aboard.

He scooted slightly closer to her, slipping one arm around her shoulders and rested his hand on her knee as he leaned over to look out at the Blue Ridge mountains. The sun was just setting, and it made for a spectacular view. “They are beautiful, darling. I see why you love them so much.”

“Oh, Mycroft. I love London, but I do miss this,” she said, misty eyed.

His eyes were back on her and he gently stroked the back of her neck. “I’m glad we could come here then, love.”

Soon they were in a rental car and Sophia was in the driver’s seat. She noticed Mycroft’s right hand gripping his knee and smirked. “Having a rough time handling the right side of the road, my love?”

“Every time I go to a country which drives on the opposite side of the road, I find it difficult at first to adjust. You seem to have taken back to it quite quickly.”

“I guess it’s sort of like they say about riding a bike. It comes back to you.”

“I wouldn’t know, I never learned how to ride a bike. Not a real one at least, just the stationary one in my exercise room.”

“That seems sad.”

“Yes, well, Sherlock and I—and Euros while she was with us—we had a unique childhood.”

“I’m sure it was. I wonder what your mother will think of me—when she finally does meet me?”

“We’ve discussed before, she’ll attempt an air of disdain at your home country but will soon be wooed by kindness and your wit, I’ve no doubt.”

“I hope so.”

“But for now, it should be me worrying over parental approval—I’m about to walk into the fire, as they say.”

“You’ll do fine, Mycroft—they’re terribly impressed by your job—of which I’ve told them very, very little, of course—and your sophistication. My father has his own way of trying to be funny and make light of things, and I apologize in advance if he does a pitiful impersonation of a British accent. He’ll probably embarrass me terribly, but I hope you’ll stick around endure it, if only for my sake. He means well, and we are very close. I was quite the daddy’s girl growing up. He’ll probably also attempt to intimidate you, but most likely with a hint of humor so you’ll know he isn’t serious.”

“Daddy’s girl—protective father checking out the new British boyfriend—got it,” Mycroft said as he looked out the window. It was dark, but he could make out the shadows of the mountains in the distance and the farmlands as they drove past. “And your mother? Tell me more about her.”

“You already know—she’s the reason I first got into computers and technology. At 35 years old, when I was only 8 or 9, she brought home an old computer from work and sat me at it. I learned basic programming and commands, and my knowledge grew from there—mostly by experience. By the time I went to university, I already knew much of what I would end up learning in classes.”

“And your father, he was in construction?”

“Building houses and making improvements on them, yes. He built the house they live in now. It’s gorgeous. I think you’re going to love it. Lots of natural wood. Your home and office both reminded me of it a little. And their view is amazing. They are both retired now.”

“And you lived in this home with them?”

“Until I graduated from university. My school wasn’t far from home, so to save money I stayed at home and commuted to school every day. Then I graduated and moved for my first job.”

By now she had turned off the main road they’d been on for some time and was headed up several curvy roads. “I see we’re headed up the mountain now,” Mycroft said, gripping the door.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m sure. Not quite so mountainous in London.”

“No, it’s not, not really mountains like this in any of England. More in Scotland—though I’ve yet to get to visit them. Too busy with work.”

Mycroft filed away that bit of information, though he wasn’t able to do much with it at that time as he was driven to distraction by the curves and incline of the road. Finally, when Mycroft thought he might be sick, Sophia pulled off the curvy road they’d been on and pulled the car down into a driveway. There before them stood a two-story house covered in cedar shakes. It had a small front portico with a stone floor. Mycroft attended to the luggage and Sophia shut the boot—or trunk as she’d always called it—before they stepped up onto the portico. Before she could reach out to touch the doorbell the door was opening.

“There you are! Hi sweetie! Welcome home!” Her mother squeezed her tight in a hug before pulling back and looking at her. “You look wonderful, dear.”

“Thank you, mom.” She then turned to Mycroft with a wide smile on her face. “This is Mycroft Holmes, whom I’ve told you about.”

“Welcome to our home, Mycroft,” the older woman, in whom Mycroft saw many of Sophia’s features, spoke to him with a kind smile before leaning in and giving him a gentle hug.

Mycroft swallowed. He’d been through countless political negotiations, meetings, dinners—he told himself again that he could handle meeting his girlfriend’s parents. “Thank you allowing me to join your family for Christmas, Mrs. Cartwright. I’ve heard so much about you and Sophia’s father, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“So, she’s finally brought him home, has she?” he heard a voice call out from inside. “Well, let me see him.” The older man trudged a bit slowly to the door on his cane and leaned against the doorframe as he eyed Mycroft closely.

“Mr. Cartwright, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Mycroft set the bags down and held out his hand. The older man stood up straighter and took his hand in a firm grip, shaking it.

“You too, son. Thank you to seeing to our daughter’s safe return to this side of the ocean—even if it is just for a few days.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Sophia finally spoke up. “Am I being ignored in favor of my boyfriend, Daddy, or are you going to say hello to me?” She asked with a smirk and crossed arms.

“Oh, come here, girlie,” he said and waved her over.

She chuckled and stepped into her father’s arms, giving him a long tight hug. “I missed you, Daddy.”

“I missed you too, girlie. Y’all come on in now.”

They all entered the room and Mycroft was quite taken aback. They stepped first into a small foyer where he set down their bags temporarily. But once they stepped into the main room, he was awed by the vaulted ceiling, the wall of full glass doors and high windows ahead of them, and the large stone fireplace to their left. “Mr. Cartwright, your craftsmanship is breathtaking—your home is gorgeous.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, son.”

“Mycroft doesn’t pay compliments haphazardly, Daddy—he means what he says. You’ll like that about him.”

“Hmm, I suppose I might. Depends on what he has to say.” He then looked the man over again. “You have a business meeting to go to tonight?”

“Daddy,” Sophia warned, swatting her father on the arm.

Mycroft looked down at his suit. He hadn’t considered that his normal attire would make him stand out like a sore thumb, though he was accustomed to it. “No, sir. I’m afraid after years of working in areas where a suit and tie was required, it’s become my everyday attire for the most part.”

“I think you look rather dashing, Mycroft. Don’t worry about my husband—he just dislikes having to wear a suit and tie himself. Listen, I know you two must be exhausted from your travel. As much as I’d love to keep you up for hours and talk, I suppose we’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. Your father and I are about ready to turn in, anyway. Would you like me to give you the full tour myself, or do you think you remember where everything is, dear?”

“I think I can manage mom, as long as you haven’t reorganized like you did as soon as I went away after school.”

“No, no—I haven’t moved the sheets again after you threw a fit the first time you visited after you moved to DC.”

“Then I’ll manage fine, thanks Mom. Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, girlie. See you bright and early.”

“Some things don’t change, Daddy—you get me one or the other— bright, or early. Take your pick.” That earned a smile from both men in the room.

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” Mrs. Cartwright said, patting the man on the shoulder.

“Don’t wander from the guest room during the night, son. I’m a light sleeper,” Mr. Cartwright said, pointing his cane at Mycroft.

“Daddy,” Sophia said in a half-whine, half-groan.

Mycroft held his hands up in a placating gesture. He’d talked down governments from starting wars, but this man may or may not strike more fear into him than any terrorist or nation or anyone. Perhaps because he had so much personally invested in this interaction. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I’ll be on my best behavior, as always.”

“Mmhmm,” Mr. Cartwright grumbled.

“Carl, stop it,” his wife said as she waved him towards their bedroom around the corner.

Sophia rolled her eyes and took Mycroft’s hand in hers. “Come on, I’ll show you the basement first.”

“The basement? Usually there aren’t too many exciting things in the cellar. Or have I walked into some terrible horror film?”

Sophia giggled. “You haven’t seen _this_ basement. It’s finished.”

He followed her down the carpeted stairs and once at the bottom she pulled him to the left. “This is the office, though it’s rarely used for anything other than browsing the internet and paying bills these days. Dad doesn’t get down here much anymore as he rarely takes the steps. Mom has always handled the finances though.” She then led him out of the office, past the stairwell they’d come down, and into a large open living room area. “And this is where I spent many an evening in my high school and college days. I’d have friends over and we’d watch movies for hours. Sort of our own version of your theater room, Mycroft.”

“It’s very cozy. The fireplace is nice. The stonework is very attractive.”

“My Daddy did it all.”

“He’s incredibly skilled. You weren’t exaggerating in the least.”

She turned and took his other hand in hers, looking up at him nervously. “What did you think of them?”

“Your mother is very kind. And your father has a wry sense of humor. It’s incredibly clear where your personality traits come from. He is also very protective of his daughter, which I think I would consider something we both have in common—so, in the end, I believe we’ll get along just fine.”

She smiled wide. “You really think so?”

“I know so. Stop worrying,” he said gently, placing a light kiss on her forehead. “Show me the rest?”

She nodded. “Back upstairs then.”

As they reached the top of the stairs again, she pointed just to the right of the stairwell. “Coat closet.” Across from them. “A small half bath for visitors.” She then walked him to the right of the open sitting area they’d been in with her parents. “This is the dining and kitchen area, obviously.”

“You were right, I do love the woodwork. It’s reminiscent of a log cabin in some ways—but against the white walls, it also has a modern feel. It’s fascinating, intriguing, and gorgeous.” He then smiled and turned to her. “Reminds me of you, actually. Modern, but also classic, with a bit of a country mountain feel. Yes, this home very much suits your personality, dear.”

“I take that as a high compliment, Mycroft. Thank you.”

She then pointed out the pantry and the laundry area, if for any reason he was in need of them during their stay.

“Our rooms are upstairs. I’d show you the back deck, but you won’t see much tonight. I’d like to wait till tomorrow for you to see that. Though you’ll probably get to experience it without me if you brave leaving your room at your normal waking time.”

“What would you prefer I do?” he asked, wanting to make her comfortable and ease her own nerves.

She shrugged. “Whatever makes you comfortable. Shall we go up?”

“I’ll just grab our bags and you can show me the way.”

She nodded and walked back through the sitting area where he diverted to grab the bags from the foyer before rejoining her. He followed her up the stairs. “First one here on the right at the top of the stairs is the guest room—yours for the time being. I hope it will be alright.”

He followed her in and placed his luggage down on the bed before resting a comforting hand on the small of her back. She was so concerned about his approval of her parents, and their home—her home for many years. He knew that his general lifestyle and financial status could sometimes leave her feeling less-than-adequate. “It’s wonderful, dear.”

“Across the loft is mine, as well as the bathroom we’ll both use.”

“Shall I follow you?”

She nodded and he followed her across the loft which held a view of the sitting area below and the windows that reached from the glass doors below almost all the way to the roof line above.

“Here’s the bathroom,” she said, flipping the light switch to turn the lights on so he could view in to see the shower/tub, toilet, and sink. “And, this is my room,” she said, entering the last door of the top floor.”

“It’s very pretty,” he said as he looked around at the wallpaper with cobalt blue and yellow flowers, curtains and a duvet that matched it well. He set her luggage down by the bed.

She looked around the room, taking in everything she hadn’t seen in over a year. “My mother made the curtains and duvet cover. I went through a blue and yellow phase and she ran with it. Hasn’t changed since then.

“Admittedly, I was expecting to see purple,” he said with a bit of a mischievous grin. Her love of purple was well known by not only her close friends but even casual acquaintances.

She chuckled. “Yeah, it’s always been a favorite, but it certainly has rekindled in the past few years,” she said with a grin.

“Rekindled is an understatement, love. More like set ablaze,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You and purple go together like me and my suits.” He then gently raised his hand and stroked her cheek. “I should go and let you get some sleep. I’m used to travel and jet lag and even I’m exhausted. I imagine it’s hitting you even worse.”

“I am feeling a bit wiped out, but I wish we didn’t have to end our evening so early,” she said with a sweet smile as she reached out and grabbed his hand again.

“I know my dear, but I don’t want your father thinking the wrong thing about our relationship. I intend to be on my best behavior, and that includes being out of your room post haste and staying out,” he said with a warm smile.

“Ever the gentlemen, Mycroft Holmes.”

“And you, ever the lady, Sophia Cartwright,” he said, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Do you mind if I shower this evening? With the bath right next to you room, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Not at all. Go ahead. Towels should be on a shelf in there.”

Mycroft nodded. “Very good. Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft. Love you.”

“And I love you,” he said before squeezing her hand one last time and leaving, closing her door quietly as he left.


	5. The Talk

“Well, good to see she’s found someone who can appreciate early mornings,” a voice called out from behind Mycroft the next morning.

He was fully dressed, though after the previous night’s realization, he’d opted to leave off the suit jacket and tie and merely had his dress shirt, slacks, and shoes on. He was currently standing on the deck that Sophia had told him so much about. He was amazed to admit that she once again hadn’t exaggerated the incredible view at all. “Good morning Mr. Cartwright. Yes, I do rather enjoy the quiet of the early morning hours, unlike your daughter, from what I’ve gathered over the course of our relationship this last year.”

“She gets it from her mother. She used to not get out of bed till almost 9.”

“I made the mistake once of calling Sophia before 8 o’clock. I never made _that_ mistake again.”

“Smart man.”

Under normal circumstances Mycroft would have something to say about his intelligence. But he held his tongue for the good of the future of his relationship. “The view here is gorgeous.”

“It is. So… smart… _and_ an eye for beauty—the latter is obvious since you chose my daughter.”

Mycroft swallowed. “She _is_ beautiful, sir. Though I’d say the best of her qualities lies in her inner beauty. She has a very kind soul.”

“And stubborn, strong-willed, and ‘spirited’ as her mother used to say to make it sound nice.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Indeed.”

“I’d try to blame that on her mother as well, but I’m sure Sophia has told you otherwise. And with all that strong-willed independent spirit—I know you must treat her well, because she’s not one to put up with less than the best.”

“I do my very best, sir.”

“And I hope you understand how important it is to me, that she be treated well?”

“I do, sir.”

“I’m assuming since you’ve made the trip all the way across the ocean, that you have some long-term plans with my daughter?”

Mycroft bowed his head slightly and swallowed. Well, this isn’t exactly how and when he’d planned this conversation, but since her father seemed to be in an amiable mood—best to take advantage. “I had intended on speaking to you before we left, sir.”

“I’d hoped so. I’m not one to dally about. Now’s as good a time as any.”

“It is—unless you decide to tell me you wouldn’t approve of me asking for your daughter’s hand in marriage? That might make the rest of the Christmas holiday a bit uncomfortable.”

“Son, if I didn’t think you were worth my daughter’s time, I would have told her not to bring you home. She’s spoken about you plenty over this past year. Told us you have some super-secret job with the British government. Told us how well you treat her. How much she enjoys your… interesting… personality. Of course, she didn’t exactly come from boring parents either, I suppose—so she’s accustomed to unique personalities,” her father said with a smirk. “My daughter is a grown woman, and at her age, I’m sure you could have decided it would be perfectly acceptable to skip having this conversation with me. But you didn’t. That’s a point in your favor. So, for my part—as long as you promise me you intend to continue to care about her as much as you do now—I’d say I couldn’t be happier to welcome you as a part of this family.”

A small smile crossed Mycroft’s face and he took a deep breath before reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“When you going to make it official?”

“I’d like for her to have the opportunity to meet my parents first. I’d thought about February—Valentine’s perhaps.”

The older man nodded. “Well, my lips are sealed.”

*****

Sophia woke up and stretched out before curling back up into a ball under her sheet and duvet. Despite it having been over a year and a half since she last slept in her room in her parents’ house, it still felt warm, cozy, and familiar. The smile already on her face grew wider as she realized that somewhere close by was Mycroft Holmes. She arose from her bed and stretched again before quietly stepping out of her room. She saw that the door to Mycroft’s room was left ajar and assumed that probably meant he was already downstairs for the morning. She stepped past the bathroom and peeked around the corner down into the sitting area and saw Mycroft sitting on the deck with her father. She chewed her lip and wondered if she should come to the rescue. But Mycroft had told her repeatedly that he was looking forward to meeting her parents, that he’d be on his best behavior and promised to use his best diplomacy skills to navigate anything he had to with her parents. She went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing her phone off the side table and shooting him a quick text message.

_Good morning, love. Going to jump in the shower before coming down. Everything going okay with my dad? -SC_

She pulled out clothes for the day from her luggage, taking her phone along with her to the bathroom. As she set her things on the countertop, her phone buzzed.

_Good morning, dear. Everything is going wonderfully. See you in a bit. Your mother has made a fresh pot of coffee and even bought a few types of tea for us. If you let me know what you’d like, I’ll have it ready for you when you come down. -MH_

She smiled, both at the text from Mycroft, but at her mother’s thoughtfulness, and that things were going well with her father.

_Tea would be lovely. Thank you. -SC_

*****

“That was Sophia, she’s getting in the shower before coming down. I’m just going to go prepare her a cup of tea. Can I get anything for you, sir?”

“A cup of coffee wouldn’t do me wrong. Black.”

Mycroft nodded and went inside.

*****

Sophia had rushes through her shower and gotten dressed. She was ready to spend time with her parents, especially with them _and_ Mycroft. As she came downstairs, she heard Mycroft in the kitchen speaking to her mother in very general basic terms about his job. She knew he’d prepared the best generalized description he could and would be using his typical way of making it sound like he did much less than he really did. Sophia knew though, that as Sherlock said, Mycroft practically _was_ the British government.

Since he seemed content speaking to her mother, and she heard the sound of water pouring into a cup, she assumed for her tea, she decided to head onto the deck to spend some time with her father.

“Good morning, Daddy.”

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?”

“Like a rock. Traveling all day across time zones is killer. Mycroft says we should recover pretty quickly this time, but that returning home to England will be a bit more difficult. He’s done lots of traveling for work, so I take his word for it.”

“We’ve missed you sweetheart. But you seem happy. I’m glad.”

“I’ve missed you too, Daddy. I am happy, though. I love my job.”

“And your boyfriend,” he said with a smirk.

“Yes, and my boyfriend. What do you think of him, Daddy?”

“I think… he cares very much about you. He seems nice. He’s very… British.”

She giggled. “Well, yes, Daddy. He is very British. Is that okay?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”


	6. A New Year

“Thank you again, Mycroft, for going all the way to America with me for Christmas.”

“You act as if it was such a bother. I truly had an enjoyable time. I wish holidays with my family were that pleasant.”

“My father was on surprisingly good behavior this week. Amazingly so, in fact. He must _really_ like you. Either that, or my mother threatened him within an inch of his life.”

“I’m sure, my dear, that it was my charm and not your mother’s threats.” Mycroft said with a grin as he held you close in the foyer of your flat. He’d walked in with you to carry your bags and had his driver waiting downstairs.

“Yes, of course, I’m sure it was,” you said with an equally cheeky grin. “So, back to work for you?”

“For a few days. But I promised Mother and Father I’d go visit them New Year’s Eve and stay over. I wondered—would you join me?”

You grinned. “So, I’ll still be meeting your parents this holiday?”

“That’s my plan, if you find it acceptable.”

“I’d love to, Mycroft. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, love. You’re the most important thing in my life, I want you to be a part of everything that is my life.”

Sophia smiled warmly, not quite able to believe the words that had just came out of Mycroft’s mouth. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Mycroft’s face went straight, and he spoke in a dry tone. “Yes, I’m going to have to go think through my next great romantic compliment now. It shall take me days to work out something to top that one.” He then dropped the act and smiled wide. “Truly, though—I’m so happy, Sophia. Happy I got to meet your family. Happy to have you in my life and get to celebrate the coming of the New Year with you. And happy to spend the next year and hopefully many more with you.”

“I’m happy too, Mycroft, I—” suddenly a huge yawn escaped Sophia’s mouth. And she blinked a few times when it finally finished. “Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry about that.”

He let out a chuckle. “Don’t apologize. It was a long flight and coming back across the time zones is even more treacherous. You should take it easy tomorrow—it’s going to hit you even harder then.”

Sophia nodded. “I’m so glad I took plenty of time off.”

“As am I. Call me when you’re up tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss arrangements for our travel over New Years, alright?”

Another nod, but this time Sophia leaned into him and went up to her tip toes to engage him in a long deep kiss. By the end, she was leaned back against the door and he was leaning into her, one hand pressing into the door beside her head, holding up his weight, while the other rested at the nape of her neck. When the kiss broke, they both breathed in deeply and he gave her another soft smile. “Good night, Sophia.”

“Good night, Mycroft.”

****

“Mother, Father, may I introduce Sophia Cartwright, one of Scotland Yard’s finest.”

“A police officer?” Mr. Holmes questioned.

“No sir, a digital forensic specialist.”

Mr. Holmes nodded, and Mrs. Holmes just continued to eye her for a moment before finally speaking. “And an American.”

“Yes, ma’am. I moved to London almost two years ago.”

“And when do you intend on returning to your home country?” The question held disdain that Sophia had prepared herself for. Not only had Mycroft warned her, but Sherlock had even visited her office at the Yard when he learned of Mycroft’s invitation to her for New Years. She’d been shocked by the younger Holmes brother’s concern for her wellbeing and felt the need to warn her of his mother’s ability to use words like the sharpest of blades to cut deep into a person’s psyche.

“Permanently? I don’t intend to. England is my home now. I love this country, and its people. In five to six years I hope to become a British citizen.”

Mycroft monitored the conversation carefully, ready to jump in should his mother go too far. Sophia, however, had asked him to give her a chance at handling herself before he stepped in. They had discussed her long-term plans for remaining in England previously. It was six months into their relationship, a year after moving to England, that she’d voiced her desire to one day become a citizen. As it stood, she’d have to wait till she’d lived in the UK for at least five years and become considered a permanent resident. However, he knew there were other options—one that he’d hoped might be an eventual option.

“I see,” his mother said, slightly warmer in her response. “I’m preparing snacks for the celebration later; would you assist me?”

Sophia smiled. “Of course, Mrs. Holmes. I’d be happy to.”

Mycroft watched as his mother turned and headed for the kitchen. His father glanced up at him with raised eyebrows, as if to express his equal hope that things would go well. “I’ll help you with the luggage, son,” he said before taking one of the bags from Mycroft’s hands.

“That is Sophia’s—it should go to the guest room.”

“I had assumed it was hers, based on its color. Last I checked you weren’t fond of carrying around purple luggage.”

Mycroft smirked. “No, but you’ll soon learn that Sophia is fond of anything purple.”

“I see. She seems very kind, Mycroft, just as you said. Seems to be able to handle herself well, also.”

“Yes, she’s very capable, and also very kind. I believe Mummy may have met her match,” Mycroft said quietly as he followed his father up the stairs to the rooms.

“Hmm, should be interesting.”

****

That night Sophia sat comfortably next to Mycroft on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders, her hand resting gently on his knee. His parents sat in chairs opposite as they all watched the London New Year’s show. As the 10 second countdown began, Mycroft watched as Sophia’s lips ghosted the count. As Big Ben struck midnight and the fireworks began, her eyes went wide, and even more so when after about thirty seconds the music began in full force. She gasped in a breath as her eyes took in the sight.

He squeezed her hand and leaned down. “Happy new year, love.”

She smiled and pulled her eyes away from the screen long enough to look up at him. “Happy new year, Mycroft.”

“Perhaps next year,” he whispered to her as he looked back to the screen with her, “we could watch live from the city.”

Her eyes lit up. “That would be amazing. It’s—amazing.”

“I’d forgotten that you worked New Year’s Eve as well last year and missed this.”

She nodded, but her eyes now remained transfixed on the screen. “It’s remarkable,” she whispered. “It reminds me of…” she faded out.

As songs changed her smile only grew wider. Mycroft saw in that moment a bit of child-like wonder and joy in his girlfriend and determined in that moment that come hell or high water, next New Year’s Eve, he would have the best seats available for her to watch the show. He was so proud of her. Just as he’d hoped and dreamed, she’d won over his mother in a remarkable feat.

He saw the tears pooling in her eyes as the previously high rpm music went to classical/operatic. She felt everything deeply, and it was that deep emotion that had ‘cracked his shell’ as John Watson had once described it. Then as the music went back to an electronic fast beat, he smiled as her toes, fingers, and head all seemed to find the rhythm of the music.

When the celebration on TV had ended, they said goodnight to Mycroft’s parents before he turned to her and asked, “Would you like a cup of chamomile to help you settle down to sleep?”

She smiled. “How did you guess?”

He led her towards the kitchen where she sat at a small table and watched as he prepared the kettle and dropped tea bags in two mugs. “You were quite engaged in watching the celebration tonight. I imagined you might have a difficult time falling to sleep after such an event.”

“I’ve seen the London fireworks before, from my computer. I used to watch it and dream that one day I’d be living in England. And here I am. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that I’ve made it this far.”

“You worked very hard to get to where you are. I’m pleased your dreams were to move here or I might never have met you.”

“Even if meeting me was because your brother had me attempting to break into your phone without realizing it was yours?”

“It’s not your fault that he led you to believe it belonged to a criminal.” He smiled. “I’ll never forget coming into your lab that first day. You surrounded by computers and all manner of technology. You were quite in your element and I was quite out of mine.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You know your way around a computer.”

“I was referring to conversing with you. The technology didn’t intimidate me—you did.”

“Me? Intimidate you? That’s hard to believe.”

“Yes, it was equally as difficult for me to understand at the time. Which is why I knew there was something different about you.” A moment later he sat across from her and set her tea mug in front of her. “I have a surprise for you. I’d thought I’d give it to you in the morning, but since we have this moment of quiet, perhaps now.”

“A surprise?”

He nodded leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg so that one ankle was propped on the other knee. After taking a sip of his tea he asked, “I’ve made arrangements for our Valentines weekend, if you’re amenable.”

“Oh? What are the arrangements?”

“A weekend in the Scottish Highlands.”

Her eyes grew wide. “R-really?”

“I thought it was high time you see another part of this beautiful island, particularly the mountainous part, seeing how much you—”

Suddenly she’d jumped up and come to him, quickly grabbing and setting his tea down on the table and falling into his arms. “Oh, Mycroft. I can’t believe you sometimes.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course, it is,” she said as she settled into his lap for a moment and smiled at him. “You do remember that you don’t have to buy me fancy things or take me on fancy trips to earn my love—don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. But I enjoy doing so—I love the look of complete joy on your face when I’ve gotten it right and found something you truly love. I love being able to give you experiences that you’ve always wanted. I love being able to make your dreams come true.”

“You, Mycroft, are my dream come true. The rest is just icing on the cake.”

****

The next morning Sophia sat at the table with Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes. “Where’s your father at this morning?” she asked as she took her first sip of coffee.

“On his morning walk, I’d assume.”

“He should be back any moment,” Mrs. Holmes commented and as if on cue, the front door opened.

“I’m back! I haven’t missed breakfast, have I?” Mr. Holmes called out as he slipped his coat off and hung it on the coat rack.

“Almost. Now come on before your coffee gets cold,” his wife called back to him.

Soon he came in, a warm smile on his face. “I’ve brought a little something for the lovely ladies in our life.” He slipped one hand out from behind his waist and set a small, handpicked bouquet of daisies before his wife. “Daisies for my heart.” He then pulled the other hand out and set before Sophia a bunch of fresh purple lavender. “And sweet lavender for my son’s.”

Sophia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Mr. Holmes—thank you!” she said as she lifted the lavender to her nose and smelled it.

Mycroft smiled and glanced to his father who winked at him. His father always was the easier going between his parents, but still—Sophia Cartwright seemed to soothe all members of the Holmes family. It made him consider a thought that’d he’d kept out of mind till then. He only allowed it a moment before he filed it away, not wanting to worry over it in such a happy moment.


	7. The Highlands

“Mycroft,” she gasped out as they approached the Highlands in the rented helicopter that was taking them on an air tour. “Look at it. There aren’t words to describe it’s beauty.”

“A situation I am familiar with,” he said through the headsets they each wore to protect their ears and communicate with each other on the journey.

“Hmm?” she said, barely glancing away from the view.

“Every time I try and describe you, love,” he said with a soft smile and saw her blush in response.

After a half hour of flying around through the mountains and valleys, the pilot came over the headset. “Sir, we’re approaching our destination.”

“Very good, James. Please be gentle in your landing.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Soon they were setting down and Mycroft stepped off the helicopter first before holding out his hand to help Sophia off.

“We’ll circle around and be back in thirty minutes, sir,” the co-pilot shouted out to Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded and waved.

“What’s going on Mycroft?” Sophia asked curiously.

“Come with me—just over this ridge,” he said, motioning her forward and taking her hand in his.

As they came up over the hill, Sophia gasped again, as she’d done several times on this trip. “Oh, wow,” was all she whispered.

“Indeed,” he said as they came to rest at a flat area that seemed made for viewing the gorgeous valley below them and the mountains beyond.

She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest as she looked out over the view. “This is more than I could have ever dreamed, Mycroft. Thank you.”

“I’ve one more thing for you, dear.”

She pulled back, a look of exasperation on her face. “Mycroft, this is so much. Too much. You can’t keep.”

“I think you’ll want to see this. At least I hope so. God, I hope so,” he chuckled a bit nervously.

That got her attention, for Mycroft Holmes rarely, if ever, acted nervous. “Okay,” she drawled out slowly. “What is it?”

“Sophia, I’ve spent every day since the one I realized I loved you trying to express it to you the best I could. Yes, sometimes it’s through gifts, through trips, experiences, and as terribly as I do—with words. You are my ‘other’ Sophia, the piece of me I didn’t realize was missing till I walked into your lab that day and was completely awestruck by you. You are the person in this world I trust the most… with everything in fact. With all of me. And that is why I see no other way forward than this—” as he finished, he took a deep breath and lowered himself to one knee, slipping his hand out of hers and into his jacket pocket quickly to pull out the ring box. “Sophia, I wish to share every moment of the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Her eyes had already grown teary as he spoke. Now, tears trickled down her cheeks. It was only because he saw the glint in her eye and the smile on her face that he knew they were tears of happiness and allowed himself not to panic. “Mycroft Holmes, had you been a poor powerless man I would have still been caught up in your eyes, in your voice, in your mind, and in the heart you so desperately hid and protected for so long. I had decided my life in London would be one of solitude, and I’d come to grips with that. Then you walked into my lab, and it was as if the missing piece of the puzzle of my life slipped into place. It would be my most treasured honor and joy to share the rest of my life with you.”

She spoke so poetically yet so confidently that he was, as usual, blown away. It took a moment before he shook himself free from her gaze long enough to stand back up and pull the ring from its box and slide it onto her finger. He pulled her into a hug, and she wrapped one arm around his waist while the other, the one that now held the ring he’d given her, rested on his heart. When she slid back slightly and examined the ring, she looked up at him coyly. “I see you went with the understated look?”

He smirked. “I considered larger and made myself choose this. I went as understated as I could possibly bear while still ensuring the best for you, my dearest love.”

She smiled. “You had it custom made, didn’t you?”

“Of course. As I said—”

“Only the best—yes.” She sighed. “With amethysts. It’s gorgeous.” The ring was made to look like interweaving vines, and purple amethysts were set at intervals, appearing almost like leaves with a half carat diamond set in the middle.

“Happy?” he asked as he looked down at her.

“The happiest.”

“Good,” he said as he slipped his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a contact before handing it to her. She looked down at the phone and smiled back up at him before he spoke again. “Then you can report as such to your father. He insisted I allow him to be your first call.”

She giggled. “Have you been planning this since Christmas?”

“Planning it? Well before Christmas. But since the opportunity presented itself, I did ask your father’s permission while on our trip.”

She swallowed. “That’s so kind, Mycroft. You didn’t have to. But you did. That means so much to me.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your family is important to you. Your father is very important to you. No matter how old we may be, it felt—right.”

She tapped the dial button and held the phone up to her ear, sliding back into her place in Mycroft’s arms as she did so. “Hi Daddy… yes… yes, he did…” She then giggled. “Of course, I said yes, Daddy. Where? Um, he brought me up to the top of a mountain in the Scottish Highlands. I’ll send you a picture of the view. You’d love it.” Her eyes grew teary then and she looked up at Mycroft. “Yes, perhaps you can visit it when you come for the wedding… okay… Hi Mom… Uh huh... Yes, it’s gorgeous,” she said, holding the ring out where she could see it while still held tight in Mycroft’s arms. “Yes, I’ll call you later and we’ll talk. I’ll send you pictures first… Okay, I love you mom….” She smiled wide. “Yes, I’ll tell him that. Bye.” She sighed happily as she hung up the phone and held onto it as she wrapped both hands around Mycroft’s waist and stood there a moment before pulling back. “My parents said to tell you they love you,” she said with a wide grin.

Mycroft smiled. “I’m fairly certain it was your mother who expressed that sentiment.”

“Maybe, but my father’s words were, ‘You did say yes, right?’ and if that’s not a signal of his acceptance and love, I don’t know what is.”

Soon the helicopter was landing again.

Sophia sighed. “That’s our signal, right? Time to head back?”

“Hold one moment—I do believe—”

And just then the co-pilot came up over the ridge, camera in hand. “I take it all went well, sir?”

Mycroft nodded to the man. “Indeed, it did.”

“Very good, sir, ma’am,” he said nodding to Sophia. “Congratulations”

“Thank you,” Sophia said with a grin.

“A picture to commemorate the moment?”

She smiled wide and hugged Mycroft tight around his waist. “That would be wonderful!”


	8. Family

“There’s still time to change your mind. I could take care of it. I’ll let him down easy for you,” Sherlock said from where he paced behind Sophia’s desk in her lab at Scotland Yard.

The woman smirked. “Sherlock, are you not excited about having me as a sister-in-law?”

“Could I have you but be rid of him? That would be ideal,” Sherlock said with a grumble.

“You two fighting again?” She said with an eyeroll.

“My brother is being ridiculously stubborn about a certain… decision.”

“Oh, what decision is that?”

She detected that Sherlock had stopped pacing and paused behind her.

She’d just taken a sip of her coffee when he finally blurted out, “He refuses to have a stag party.”

Which almost caused her to spit out her coffee. “And that surprises you, Sherlock? Surely you saw that one coming. Your brother detests parties, much less one in which he is the center of attention.”

“He’s getting married, there will be a wedding and a reception—you are making him allow a wedding reception, right?”

“Of course.”

“Which is why I’m here. Can you talk to him? As his Best Man it’s my responsibility to plan a Stag Party. If he refuses to have one, it would be considered neglect on my part.”

“I’m sure no one would look down on you because of Mycroft’s decision, Sherlock,” Sophia said with yet another grin.

“Still.”

“What did you do for John?”

“He and I went out for drinks. It all went rather—well, it wasn’t my best laid plan. Which is why I feel I can do much better this time.”

Sophia spun around in her chair. “Perhaps what we need is a compromise.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow raised. “Getting myself and Mycroft to compromise with each other could be your biggest achievement in life, Sophia. Are you sure you’re up to such a task?”

“Sherlock, I have dated, courted, and am marrying your brother. What do you think?”

He examined her a moment. “Good point. Very well, I’ll consider it. When will we have this parley to discuss said compromise?”

She spun back around to get back to work but spoke over her shoulder. “Come round to my place tonight for dinner. Mycroft is already planning on being there.”

“Are you going to tell him I’m coming?”

“Oh yes. You showing up as a surprise would not bode well for the possibility of compromise.”

Sherlock smiled again. “You really are good at this.” Before he spun around and started to walk out of the room. When he reached the door, he stopped and turned back around. “Sophia?”

“Hmm?” she said, turning slightly in her chair to look.

“I’m… happy… that you are going to be a part of our family. You are the match that neither my brother nor I ever considered he might find. I find it… pleasing.”

She smiled wide. “Yeah, I like you too, Sherlock. Now get out, I have work to do.”

He smiled back before turning to leave.

*****

“I don’t see why you invited my brother to dinner. I thought this was going to be private. Just you and I.” Mycroft said with what Sophia could only consider to be a pout.

She rolled her eyes as she prepared dinner. “Pouting doesn’t look attractive on you, love. And it’s been over a month since we had dinner with Sherlock. You know it’s important to me, and it _should_ be important to you. In fact, I know it is important to you, because I know how important your family is to you. You’re just unhappy because you know what we’re going to discuss after dinner.”

“Indeed I am. A _stag party_ ,” he said with disgust. “It’s appalling. I can’t believe you’re going along with this. Encouraging it, even.”

Sophia sighed and, after ensuring the pots and pans on the stove could keep themselves for a few minutes, turned to her fiancée and approached, slipping a hand up to cup his cheek. “Mycroft, love,” she said softly. “I said we were going to discuss a _compromise_. I know for a fact that in your position you have refereed hundreds if not thousands of compromises between officials, entire governments even. You know what a compromise means, and it doesn’t mean one party getting their way while the other gets the shaft. I promise you that you will find what I have in mind perfectly acceptable.

“Can you just tell me now? I saw the sealed box sitting in the living room. Does it have something to do with this?”

She glared at him. “No, I will not just tell you. That’s cheating. And I swear, Mycroft Holmes, if you dare open that box, I will call off the wedding.”

He scowled. “Goodness, you’re taking this seriously.”

“When you mediate between two warring nations, do you take it seriously?”

“I’d hardly compare Sherlock and myself to warring nations.” She raised an eyebrow and said nothing. “Well, not this time at least.” She continued to stare. “Very well, I get your point quite clearly, Mrs. Cartwright. You may stop glaring at me now.”

She leaned up to her tip toes and kissed him on the tip of his nose and smiled before going back to the stove. “Alright then. You can go get the door, it’s Sherlock.”

Mycroft frowned. “But the doorbell hasn’t—” Just then the doorbell rang. “Oh, you’re getting good, my love,” he cooed.

She grinned triumphantly as he pushed himself off the counter he’d been leaning on and left the room.

As Mycroft and Sherlock came back through, she heard Mycroft speak to Sherlock. “She’s threatened to call off the wedding if I touch the box, so don’t you dare do so either. My future hangs in the balance.”

“Well, I’ll obey,” Sherlock was saying as they came into the kitchen/dining area. “But only because not doing so would mean not having Sophia in the family.” He then practically skipped over to her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Good evening future-sister-in-law, it smells lovely.”

“No schmoozing the negotiator, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a grumble.

Sophia giggled. “You two are terrible. Now both of you—set the table. Dinner is almost ready.”

*****

After dinner Sherlock and Mycroft sat at opposite sides of the sofa in the living room of Sophia’s flat. She stood on the opposite side of the coffee table with the box in front of her on said table. Both men eyed the box, which she had ensured was totally unmarked. She’d used non-descript brown packing tape to seal the box and had ensured the rubbish that had contained any packaging and receipts for said materials had been taken to the bins earlier in the day.

“What I have in this box is the recipe for the perfect Holmes brother stag party, to include John Watson and Greg Lestrade—the only other two men who would consider either of you friend and be willing to put up with your nonsense.”

Sherlock tried to scoff, but Mycroft spoke over him. “She has a point.”

“I’m still skeptical. You’re trying to say that you’ve put into that box precisely what’s needed to ensure I am able to throw a stag party for my brother, and that he would agree to such stag party.”

“Indeed. A sample of said items, you’ll want more than what I have in the box. But it’s three items.”

“Three items?” Mycroft said.

She smirked. She could see both men’s mental wheels spinning on overdrive trying to deduce what was in the box. “How about instead of you both ending up with smoke pouring out your ears, I just open the box and show you.”

Almost in sync, both men slid to the edge of the sofa, literally on the edge of their seats. She picked up a knife she had on the table and made quick work of slicing through the tape. Both men were watching her every move as she then lifted the lids and reached a hand in.

First, a bottle of some of the finest Scotch Mycroft knew to exist. His eyes were already twinkling, and one of Sherlock’s eyebrows perked up in interest.

Second, she pulled out a smaller box, but not just any smaller box—a cigar box. And Mycroft would know the brand anywhere. Once again, she’d manage to procure some of the finest. Whether he realized he’d done it or not, she saw Mycroft tongue dart out to lick his lips. Sherlock’s other eyebrow joined his first.

Then, she went for the trifecta. She reached into the very bottom of the box and pulled out a folder, dropping it onto the table by the other two objects. Both men recognized it as a Scotland yard case file. Stamped in large letters across the front, “UNSOLVED.”

She moved the box to set behind her, then turned back to the men, whose eyes were darting back and forth between the three items. She crossed her arms triumphantly and stood watching them. Finally, the two men’s gazes went to her.

“Scotch. Cigars. And a pile of Scotland Yard’s most mysterious unsolved case files. I’ve already gotten authorization for Greg to bring them with him for the Holmes brothers to work their magic over on them. A nice cozy stag party in the comfort of Mycroft’s own library. Sherlock—there will be drinking, smoking, and mental deduction. Mycroft, you will be in the comfort of your own home, in front of your own fireplace, drinking your favorite scotch, smoking your favorite cigars, and… exercising that mental wizardry of yours. You will both be in the presence of the two—three if you count your brother—men that you find the least annoying on this planet. I’d say people, not men—but we all know that I’d have to be there and that defeats the purpose of a stag party. What say you gentlemen?”

Sherlock was the first to break the silence. “Is it too late to propose to you myself? You’re a genius.”

“She’s mine, I asked first, and you cannot have her,” Mycroft said, never taking his eyes off his fiancée. “And you _are_ a genius.”

“It was elementary, my dear Holmes brothers. You two have more in common than you realize—especially when it comes to vices. So?”

The men then turned to each other, unspoken communication going between them before they stood. “I believe our negotiations are complete,” Mycroft said with a proud smile as he looked at her. “You my dear, are remarkable.”

“I take great pride in making sure I know my first and fourth favorite men.”

Sherlock frowned. “Fourth?”

“Her father and brother, you idiot.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said before giving her a warm smile. “Well, I’ll take fourth on your list any day, dear sister-in-law. I should be off now. Thank you for the lovely meal, and the enlightening negotiation. I don’t suppose I could peek at that case file now, could I?”

She shook her head and smiled before giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug. “Not a chance. Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Sophia.” He then turned to Mycroft. “We’ll discuss a date, then?”

Mycroft nodded. “It appears so, yes. Goodnight, brother mine.”

“Good night.”

Once Sherlock had seen himself out, Mycroft turned to Sophia. “You really are remarkable. I don’t suppose I can hire you as a negotiator?”

“Sorry, I negotiate with computers, and Holmes brothers.”

“Some would argue deep similarities between those things.”

“I would have to disagree,” she said as she approached and slipped her arms around his waist. “Computers can’t do this,” she said with a grin as she gave him a gentle kiss.

*****

A half hour later Sophia saw Mycroft to the door. Once she’d closed and locked it back, she went back to the living room and sat on the sofa. She examined the items on the coffee table with a grin before pulling her phone out and sending out a text.

_The game is on. Look for your invitation from Sherlock. -SC_

A few moments later… _Only you could negotiate that settlement. -JW_

_Brilliant! -GL_

*****

A few days later, Mycroft and Sophia sat on a settee in a private lounge at a rather posh restaurant in London. He’d convinced her to allow him to cover the cost of the wedding and reception, insisting that it would be easier, and that he didn’t want her parents having to worry about anything other than being there. He’d already also insisted that he’d send a private jet for her parents and brother’s family and would be covering the cost of their hotel stay. Too happy at knowing her family would be joining them in London for the wedding, she acquiesced. Now they were awaiting sampler platters of food they’d choose from for the reception, and then have the cake tasting to choose their cake flavors.

While they waited, Sophia could tell that something was on Mycroft’s mind. “Are you alright? You seem preoccupied. Have you changed your mind about using this restaurant? I’m sure we can attempt to find another.”

“No, no. It’s not that, dear. It’s just—well I’ve been thinking about something. I haven’t quite convinced myself, though. I’m sorry to appear so perplexed over it as to cause you concern.”

“What is it, love?” she said, reaching to take his hand in hers.

“My sister,” he said. And those words gave plenty of explanation. About six months into their relationship he’d revealed to Scarlett that he had a sister and all about the terrible things that had happened at Sherrinford because of her, and the state she was currently in. She knew that he and Sherlock took turns making weekly visits to her. On Sherlock’s visits, the two played their violins together. On Mycroft’s, it was mostly silence. He tried to make small talk, but Mycroft was not incredibly skilled in that area, and it didn’t suit he or Euros.

“What about her?” Sophia asked gently. She was sure it had some connection to their upcoming wedding, only a few months away now. She wondered if perhaps deep down he was wishing that his _entire_ family could be present but knew that was impossible due to her condition and her mental power. He’d also made it very clear, very early on, that he wouldn’t be discussing Sophia with Euros, for her own safety.

“I—I would like her to meet you.”

Sophia let out the tiniest of gasps. “You would?”

He looked down, scowling at himself. “Yes. Though it’s foolish and unwise, I still find myself unable to settle it in my mind. It’s just that deep down, in my mind and my… my heart… she _is_ my sister. And you are to be my wife. You are going to be a part of our family, and despite the insanity and danger of it all, I keep feeling this desire. I don’t understand it,” he said, his voice trembling by the time he got to the end. “I wasn’t going to mention it. I didn’t want to worry or bother you with it. But it keeps eating at me and now you’ve noticed it and I promised I’d always be honest with you. So… there it is.”

She gently began stroking his hand with hers as she held it with both her own. “When we began dating, I accepted that there would be the possibility of danger, Mycroft, because of your job. And as things grew more and more serious, I knew the danger increased. And when you told me about Euros, I accepted that there was also a possibility of danger in that. You know that with my work for law enforcement and the government that I am well aware of how dangerous the world is. I accept that danger every day when I walk into work. When I accepted your proposal of marriage, it was an acceptance that I was not only to be your wife—that of a ‘minor’ government official,” she said with a knowing wink, “But also daughter-in-law to your parents, and sister-in-law to Sherlock, _and_ to Euros. I not only accept that, but I also willingly and whole-heartedly embrace it. I would love to meet your sister, Mycroft.”

Mycroft swallowed, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. “Remarkable. You are simply remarkable.”

She smiled sweetly at him and leaned in to give him a quick, gentle kiss just as the attendant came through to begin the tasting.

*****

Three weeks later Mycroft and Sophia stepped off the helicopter at Sherrinford, with Sherlock following just behind and standing at Sophia’s other side. He’d insisted, demanded in fact, that he would be present as well. Seemed the Holmes brothers were both determined to protect Sophia, and she thought that just perhaps Sherlock hoped that his presence would also show his approval of Sophia.

Not long after, the door slid opened and Sophia took a quiet, steady breath as she saw the long brunette-haired woman sitting nearby with her back to them. She wore a white nightgown of sorts. They approached, standing just behind a marked line, just as Mycroft had explained would happen.

“Sister, Sherlock and I have come together today.” Mycroft paused and swallowed, and Sophia moved her hand ever so slightly, taking his within hers. “We’ve brought a guest with us today. Someone we’d like you to meet.”

Sophia was watching the woman carefully and saw the almost imperceptible tilt of her head to the side as she took in that piece of information. After a moment, she decided to speak and squeezed Mycroft’s hand gently. “Hello, Euros.”

At that, the woman in the cell stood and turned. Sophia watched as she quickly measured up the situation, taking in how Sophia held Mycroft’s hand, that Sherlock stood a few inches away on her other side. Then, she came up to the edge of the cell.

“Euros, this is Sophia. She and I are to be married in just a few weeks. We wanted you to meet her first.”

Euros raised an eyebrow and looked for a moment to Sherlock, who gave a slight nod in non-verbal confirmation that this was indeed the case. She then turned back and gave careful examination to Mycroft, looking over every inch of him. She then turned her attention back to Sophia and took another step forward.

Sophia felt bold and took a step forward as well, just to the edge of the marked line. “I’m glad we’ve had the opportunity to meet, Euros.”

Sophia knew that the woman would be able to tell if she was lying. Knew that there was a possibility that while the Holmes brothers had the mental where-with-all to withstand Euros’ power of persuasion, there was a possibility that she wouldn’t. That with just a few words, she could possibly be under the spell of Euros Holmes and do untold harm to herself or others. It was why Mycroft had been so anxious, and Sherlock as well. In the end, it had been Sophia who had convinced them both, because she knew that Mycroft would never be able to let it go if the seed had already sprouted in his heart—which it had. She stood as confidently as possible as Euros sized her up, from head to toe. As she came to her face, Sophia smiled at her. In a display that left Sophia with a flash of hope, Euros smiled back.

After a moment, Euros turned and walked back towards her bed. Sophia started to speak, but Sherlock reached and touched her arm as if to tell her to wait. She did and took in a breath when Euros moved to pick up her violin. She came back to the glass and began playing… Canon in D. A wedding song.

By the end, Sophia had tears in her eyes, and admittedly, so did Mycroft. As she played the last note, Euros lowered her violin, turned to her eldest brother and opened her mouth. “I approve.”

Sophia gasped. So did Sherlock. Sophia heard Mycroft swallow hard. She decided to be the one to speak, since the brothers seemed at a loss for words. “I am honored. Thank you, Euros.”

“Yes, thank you Euros.”

The caged woman nodded and went back to her bed and laid down, signaling the end of their visit. None of them spoke till they were on the helicopter.

“As I understand it, she hasn’t spoken a word since the incident.”

“You understand correctly,” Mycroft said.

“But she spoke.”

“Indeed, she did,” Sherlock said.

“Is—is that good?” Sophia asked. It seemed good. It felt good. But the brothers knew her better than she did.

“It’s… a development. We’ll have to keep a careful eye on her and see if there are any changes of behavior.”

“But what does it mean?” She asked in wonder. “She spoke… when I was there. Her first words in two years—”

“Were to provide her approval of you. It seems she likes you,” Sherlock stated.

“I hardly said anything, really.”

“You were kind to her, Sophia. And she looked into your soul and saw that the kindness was not fake or with ulterior motive. She saw the kind, honest heart that I—”

“We—” Sherlock interrupted.

“That _we_ see.” Mycroft corrected himself with a slight eye roll to his brother.

****

Later that night, Sophia brought two glasses of wine into the library of Mycroft’s home where he sat in a large oversized, overstuffed armchair by the fire. She handed him his glass.

“Thank you,” he replied, raising it slightly to her.

“You're welcome,” she replied before curling up in the chair opposite him. “You’re concerned that her interest in me could be dangerous.”

“Of course, I am. I always worry about your safety. In this instance there is a true potential threat.”

“Or it could be nothing. Sherlock’s work with her after Sherrinford may have truly broken through to her. She could just genuinely like me.”

“I have no doubt she genuinely likes you, my dear. It’s what she’ll do with it that is of concern. It was obvious during…the incident…” he said with a swallow. Mycroft still had nightmares about it, Sophia knew, so talking about it still brought him great distress. “It was obvious that she saw others as pawns, playthings to be used and manipulated for her experiments and observation. I won’t have her using either of us in that way. Not again.”

“I understand, love. And I’ll understand that you don’t want me to go back there again—for now. But I hope that perhaps one day I’ll be able to go, by your side, as your wife—as her sister-in-law. Might that happen? One day?”

He pursed his lips together but looked at his fiancée carefully and sighed. “Perhaps… one day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have to post for now, but I promise I'll try to update soon. :)


	9. Tragedy

Mycroft practically fell into his chair behind his desk in his office at work. With a deep sigh he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and tapped to dial a number.

After a moment, she answered, “Good morning, handsome.”

He hummed, her cheer was contagious, despite his weariness. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Did you know that I’ve earned a nickname from Lestrade?”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Miracle Worker. Though I’m as of yet unsure if it’s because of my work here at Scotland Yard, or the fact that I’ve melted the Ice Man’s heart.”

A gentle chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Or perhaps both. Both could be considered equally miraculous. I’m sorry to disturb you at work. Do you have a moment?”

“Always for you.”

Her answer caused him to smile again, then his face fell as he recalled the reason he had rung her. “I just finished up a meeting that unfortunately has created another meeting that must take place tonight. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel on our plans for the evening. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“But it’s not. I hate having to cancel on you for work.”

“But work is important, and you try your very best to not have to cancel when we’ve made plans—but I’m not foolish enough to have thought it would never happen. It’s alright, Mycroft. It was just dinner.”

“It’s never just dinner when it’s with you.”

"You're too sweet to me," she said with a sigh.

“Hmm, well, you’re too good to me," he replied.

“I’m going to remind you of that in a few years when all the newness of being stuck with me wears off and you grow tired and weary of me.”

“Never going to happen,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Why don’t you text me when you finish up? If it’s not too late, we can talk on the phone tonight. Otherwise, we’ll chat tomorrow.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

“You’re welcome. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

*****

Mycroft had moved into preparations for his next meeting, Anthea having pulled several files for him—he was an hour in when his phone rang. He glanced at the number and frowned. _Daniel Cartwright_. Why was Sophia’s brother calling him—he glanced at his watch—at 6am?

“Hello, Daniel?” Mycroft asked in greeting.

“Mycroft, hello,” the man answered, and Mycroft could already tell something was wrong.

He stood from his desk and went towards the window. “Daniel, is something the matter?”

He heard the other man clear his throat before speaking. “Something’s happened, and I can’t bring myself to call my sister. I—I was hoping you—it’s… it’s my dad. Mycroft, my mom found my father dead this morning when she woke up. He’s—he’s gone.”

Mycroft’s eyes squeezed shut and one hand reached out to lean against the window and hold himself up as the air left his lungs. “Daniel, I—I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, um… thank you. Do you—could you tell Sophia? I know you’re a busy man, and—”

Mycroft was already slipping some things into his briefcase. “I’ll leave immediately to go to Scotland Yard and speak to her. I’ll be sure she’s on a plane as soon as possible to get there.”

“I can’t believe this is all happening now—two weeks before her wedding and—losing our Dad. It’s going to kill her, Mycroft. They were so close.”

“I know,” Mycroft whispered as he finished closing the strap on his briefcase. “How is Mrs. Cartwright?”

‘Upset, as you can imagine. But she’s a strong woman. She’ll get through this.”

“I’ll have her daughter there as soon as I can. Please keep me informed if there’s anything we need to know.”

“I will. Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Of course, Daniel. You’re welcome. Bye now.”

“Bye.”

*****

Mycroft swallowed and took a deep breath as he looked in through windows of Sophia’s lab. After a moment he finally released the breath and entered. “Hello, love,” he said quietly.

Sophia turned from the screen she’d been staring at and smiled. “Well, hello—this is a surprise.” But soon, she realized that he wasn’t reflecting her smile. In fact, he was distraught as she’d only seem him a few times. She stood and approached. “Mycroft, what’s wrong? You should be preparing for your meeting this evening, right?”

“Sophia, I— I’ve had some bad news,” he said quietly.

“Bad news? Did something happen to Sherlock? Euros?” She kept scanning his face to see some acknowledgement. “Your parents?”

“No, no… I—I’m afraid it’s not my family. It’s—” He reached out and rested his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders. “Sophia, love, I got a call from your brother. Something—something happened to your father, and—” He could already see her face morphing into a look of terror as he finished. “He died, Sophia. Your father’s gone.”

“Wha—,” she gasped. “What? No! No, you’re mistaken. Nothing could have happened. Not—no!”

He pulled her into his arms with her putting up little fight before she gasped out a sob and began weeping. “I’m so, so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry,” he whispered down into her hair, his own eyes filling with tears.

After a few moments the sobs calmed down long enough for her to pull back, looking around frantically. “I—I have to—I need to—”

“I’ve already called your supervisor. I’m taking you to your apartment right now to pack a bag. My pilot is filing a flight plan right now and we’ll be on our way home as quick as we can.”

“B-but—I—you—” She was still frantically looking around, as if she couldn’t find what she was trying to focus on. Suddenly her eyes focused in on his. “You—your meeting. You can’t miss your meeting.”

“To hell with my meeting, Sophia—you need to get to your mother and family, and I am not letting you fly across the Atlantic by yourself.”

“Then—then you’ll have your meeting, and we’ll leave as soon as it’s over. We’ll fly overnight and be there first thing in the morning,” she said as she stared now at his tie.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Sophia, surely—”

“I want to be there. I want you there with me. But I—I’m not letting you miss your meeting. I just can’t Mycroft. Please, don’t fight me.”

“Then after we get your bags packed, I’m taking you to Baker Street to wait with Sherlock until my meeting is over. I’m not leaving you alone at home.”

She inhaled a deep shaky breath and nodded, but then her lip started to quiver, and she crashed into him, burying her head in his chest and crying all over again.

****

It was almost a half hour before they were walking out of Metropolitan Police headquarters and getting into the back of Mycroft’s car. Mycroft stood close by while Sophia numbly packed her bag. She had continued to cry all the way home in the car, and finally settled down right as they’d pulled up. But he saw that every so often she’d be caught up in the deep emotion of her grief and her face would scrunch up in pain as she held back her tears to get through the task at hand. After she’d packed a few things, she seemed to stare into her closet blankly. He approached and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and whispering. “You’ll need to pack something for the funeral service, dear. Perhaps this one,” he said, pulling out a simple knee length dress. She nodded and took the dress from him, gently folding it and laying it in her suitcase. He bent to pick up her black flats and handed them to her before she could approach.

“Thank you,” she whispered, staring at his tie.

He cupped her cheek and raised her face to his, easily seeing the swirling emotions in her eyes. “I will be here for you in whatever way you need me to be, Sophia. No matter how great or how small the need might be, please do not hesitate to ask. I consider it my greatest honor, and my greatest duty, to walk with you through this terrible grief I know you are feeling. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”

She drew another shaky breath and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He gazed at her softly a moment before deciding. “How about you go pack up your toiletry bag, wash up and splash some cool water on your face. Take a moment to breath. I’ll just go down and make you a travel mug of hot tea to sip on for the drive over to Baker Street. There’s no telling what Sherlock has at his place. Does that sound good?”

She nodded and scooted herself into his arms for a moment, resting her head on his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on her head and allowed her to stay there until she felt comfortable letting go. When she did, he made quick work of the descent to the main floor to prepare the tea he’d promised. While he did, he called Sherlock and was grateful his brother was home to take the call. He shared the news with him and informed him of their plans. He was coming out of the kitchen, travel mug in hand, when Sophia came down the stairs with her bag.

“Here, darling, let me get that for you,” he said, meeting her near the bottom and exchanging the mug for the suitcase.

“Are you ready?”

“I think so. I may have forgotten something,” she said quietly.

“If so, then we’ll just purchase it while there. It’s not a problem.”

*****

When they entered 221 Baker Street, Sherlock was standing in his doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down at the entrance, as if he’d been waiting there since receiving the call from Mycroft.

Mycroft gestured for Sophia to mount the stairs ahead of her, and as she did, Sherlock watched carefully. When she reached the top, Sherlock opened his arms, flicking his fingers to motion her towards him. She exhaled and stepped into his arms, which he wrapped around her securely, giving his brother a sad half smile. “I promise I’ll look after her while you’re gone.”

Sophia stepped back out of Sherlock’s embrace and turned to Mycroft, who looked down at her with loving eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, love. I’ll have you to your family just as quickly as I can.”

She nodded and looked up at him, giving up the bravest smile she could muster. “Thank you. I’ll be fine here with Sherlock. See you in a little while.”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek and spoke gently, “I love you.”

She leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

He then looked back to Sherlock. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

Sherlock nodded and rested a hand on Sophia’s shoulder, guiding her into the flat.

*****

A little while later, Sherlock sat on the couch, leaned back with his head resting on the back cushion, the fingers of his two hands were interlaced together resting in his lap. Sophia sat next to him, leaned slightly over with her head resting on his shoulder. Sherlock had become as much a brother to her as her own, and she appreciated his quiet company at this moment as she found herself unable to find suitable words.

“Mycroft said you insisted he go to this meeting,” Sherlock spoke up after an extended silence. She nodded in answer. “You’re the first person I’ve ever seen him willing to walk away from it for, you know. He would have skipped that meeting; I think he’d walk away from it all if necessary.”

“I don’t want him to do that,” she whispered softly.

“I know. Just one more thing on the list of reasons why you are an angel.”

She let out a hiccup of a chuckle. “Not nearly.”

“Sophia, you’re marrying Mycroft. You are a creature of divinity to put up with him. And me, for that matter.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

He nodded his own response. “You know, I don’t have the best relationship with my parents, but—the thought of losing one of them does cause me to pause. I can’t imagine what this is like for you. I know you were very close to your father. I’m so very sorry for your loss, Sophia.”

“I feel a deep gaping hole in my heart right now.”

Just then, the door swung open and John Watson flew in, eyes scanning quickly across the flat before finding them sitting on the couch. He ran over and knelt down in front of her. “God, Sophia—I am so sorry to hear about your father.”

She gave him a sweet smile and leaned forward, accepting the hug she knew was forthcoming. “Thank you, John. How did you—”

“Sherlock called me as soon as Mycroft told him.” He moved to sit on her other side.

She smiled and reached out, taking each of their hands in her own and squeezing. “You two really are fantastic friends—incredibly good stand-in brothers.”

John leaned over quickly and placed a kiss on her hair. “Anytime. And I mean that.”

“Since opening myself up to the concept of caring, I’ve been quite fascinated by my increased desire to clobber someone at the notion that they would hurt those I care about. I almost got violent with a toddler the other day for pushing Rosie on the playground.”

John chuckled. “It’s true. I had to hold him back.”

Both men smiled at the sound of a chuckle and a small smile coming from Sophia.

“Is there anything we can do for you right now, Soph?” John asked.

She took a deep breath. “I need to call my mother. Could you guys give me a little space for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” the blonde said before both men got up and walked towards the kitchen.

A few moments later, her mother answered the phone. “Hey mom,” Sophia said softly. “Yes, I’m coming. Mycroft and me. We’re leaving as soon as he’s out of a very important meeting I wouldn’t let him skip. We’re going to fly overnight and be there in the morning, okay?” She paused and waited, rubbing under her eyes with her thumbs. “I know mom… yeah... I know. Okay, I’ll see you soon. I—I love you mom. Tell Daniel I’ll text him when we’re taking off from Heathrow, okay? Okay, bye.”

She sighed as she hung up the phone and slowly moved to lay on the couch, curled up on her side and resting her head against a pillow.

Four hours after he left her, Mycroft returned to 221B Baker Street. His lips were drawn tight in a scowl as he exited his car and approached, using his own key that he’d finally convinced Mrs. Hudson to give him after the explosion just over two years ago. The door to Sherlock’s flat opened before he reached the top of the stairs and he found John was the one who’d done so. He held his finger up over his mouth indicating he should be quiet. Mycroft lessened the impact of his footfalls and slipped in to see his fiancée curled up under a blanket on the couch, fast asleep.

“How long has she been like that?” Mycroft asked once he’d entered the kitchen with John and his brother.

“She called her mother three hours ago and as soon as she was off the phone, laid down and fell asleep. I placed the blanket on her for comfort.”

“Thank you to you both for being here with her.”

“How did your meeting go?” John asked.

Mycroft scowled. “Damned politicians and their hot air. I may or may not have threatened every last one of them before the meeting was over. It was if every push I made for moving more quickly they decided to slow down even more. Tedious and frustrating. I wish she hadn’t insisted I go. We could already be almost halfway to America by now.”

“On that note, you should wake her then. Sherlock said she had a bag packed—have you packed?”

“Anthea took care of it while I was in my meeting. Both are bags are in the car waiting. I’ll just go wake her.”

“Brother,” Sherlock called out before Mycroft made it out of the room.

He turned back halfway towards Sherlock. “Yes?”

“Keep us up to date on arrangements, and how she’s doing.”

Mycroft gave his brother the slightest of smiles and nodded. “Of course.”

****

Mycroft knelt before the sofa in Sherlock’s flat and ran a hand gently over Sophia’s forehead. “Sophia, love, it’s time to go now.” He said quietly and she started to stir.

“Mycroft?” she whispered hoarsely as she blinked away the sleep.

“Yes, darling, it’s me. I’m back from that dreaded meeting and the jet is waiting for us at the airport. Time to get you home to your family, love.”

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as everything came back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep shaky breath. “Okay.”

*****

They were a few hours into the flight when Mycroft looked across into the lounge seat that had been turned and leaned back into a makeshift bed. Sophia lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. “Are you sure you don’t want to come sit next to me? I’m happy to have you leaned against me, you can snuggle to your hearts content?”

She sighed and rolled from her back to her side to look at him. “I’m fine. It’ll be a few hours before I can get back to sleep. I don’t want to bother you; I know you’re trying to get work done.”

“Only because I want to be available as much as I can for you and your family tomorrow and in the days that follow.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “You really are the best, you know?”

He swallowed, closed the lid of his laptop gently, and looked at her. “I will live every day of the rest of my life dedicated to being the man your father hoped I would be for you. I intend to make sure your mother, your brother, your entire family, is well cared for till my dying breath, Sophia. It’s the least I can do to honor the man who raised the remarkable woman I get to call my wife one day soon.”

She sat up, looking at him with wide, soft eyes. “Mycroft—that’s—that’s so sweet of you to say.”

“I’m not just saying it, Sophia. I mean it.”

She nodded and laid back down, a small sigh escaping her lips. “I know you do.”

“What are you thinking about, love?”

“Everything.”

“But at this moment, there’s something very specific that’s bothering you. I mean—a very specific part of the grief—of the loss—that has taken your thoughts captive. Please share it with me.”

She sighed again. “The wedding.”

He nodded slowly in understanding but remained quiet. He’d wondered if the full impact of the loss and how it would impact their upcoming nuptials had occurred to her yet.

“Every dream I’ve ever had of my wedding day—it included my father walking me down the aisle. I never thought—I never imagined—,” her voice had gotten shakier, and he was slid the desk away from his chair and was at her side quickly.

He sat on the edge of her seat and lifted her into his embrace, holding her tight to his chest, adjusting her only to pull her into his lap and rock her gently. “Oh, my sweet, wonderful Sophia—I’m so so sorry.”

“I—I suppose my brother will walk me down the aisle now. I guess everyone will still be up for coming. But it’s only two weeks away, Mycroft— how will we—”

“We’ll discuss it with your mother and brother, my love. If we need to postpone it, we will.”

“But Mycroft, we—you—the location, the food, the cake, the music—so much money deposited that you’ll lose.”

“My love, how many times have I told you—money is not as important to me as you are. Your happiness is more important to me. We will do what we have to do to make it all work out.”


	10. A Patriot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've no idea if I'm about to disrespect the Queen of England, but I really don't mean to, so I hope there aren't any mistakes too glaring and that you can enjoy a bit of cheer in the sadness.

The next afternoon, the Cartwright family, except for the two young grandsons of Mr. & Mrs. Cartwright—whom were down in the basement playing video games—were all gathered in the sitting area of the mountain home that Sophia had visited just a few months earlier for Christmas. They’d visited the funeral home that morning and arrangements had been set for two days later. Mycroft had been on and off the phone, taking most of his calls from the deck or downstairs in the office. He had just come back up and looked apologetic.

“I am terribly sorry to have to keep taking calls,” he said with a bowed head, directed towards his future mother-in-law, as he sat down next to Sophia.

“It’s alright, dear boy, I know you are a very busy man with your job. It means a great deal to me—to us—that you would come all this way with Sophia.”

“I wouldn’t dream of not being here to support her—and you all—in whatever way I can.”

Just then, his phone rang again, and he sighed. But when he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket, his eyes went wide. “I am sorry, but I must take this call.”

He quickly was back up and stepping out onto the deck.

“Exactly how ‘minor’ did you say his position in the British government, was, Sophia?” Daniel—her brother—asked as he watched the man closely through the glass doors.

“You know I can’t discuss that, Daniel.”

Just then, Mycroft stepped back in, but with the phone still held to his ear. “Yes, ma’am. Please just give me a moment and I’ll see if she’s available.”

Mycroft turned to Mrs. Cartwright with a most peculiar look on her face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cartwright, but I have someone on the line who would very much like to speak to you and express her condolences. I think you might want to take this call.”

Elizabeth Cartwright gave a confused frown before holding out her hand. “Well, I suppose, if you say so, Mycroft.”

“Perhaps I’ll just put it on speaker so the rest of the family can hear,” he said quietly, and put his finger over his mouth to hush everyone as he handed her the phone and tapped the speaker button.

“Hello? Who’s this?” Sophia’s mother said shakily.

“Yes, is this Mrs. Elizabeth Cartwright?”

“It is.”

“Please hold for the Queen,” the woman’s voice called out.

Everyone in the room—Sophia, her brother and his wife gasped before another voice came over the line. “Yes, hello?”

“Um, h-hello there—your majesty.”

“Mrs. Cartwright, I understand we share a given name. You are Elizabeth, correct?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“I wanted to call and express mine and Sir Phillip’s deepest condolences on the loss of your husband. I can’t imagine quite what my life would be like without my Phillip. I understand your Paul was a true patriot of the Unites States of America, a skilled carpenter, and a good and honorable man. I wish you the best, and our family will be praying for yours in the coming days. I have had flowers ordered that should be present at the memorial service. I do hope that they bring some good feelings on what I know will be a sad day.”

“Th-thank you, ma’am. Thank you, very much.”

“You are so very welcome. Could I please speak to Mycroft now, Mrs. Cartwright?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just pass over the phone. Good—goodbye.” The woman’s eyes grew even wider as she held the phone out to Mycroft.

He took the phone, tapped the speaker button, and out of habit, straightened his suit jacket before placing the phone to his ear. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.” He listened for a moment and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I will be sure they are… yes, ma’am, I will. Of course, ma’am. Oh—well, thank you, ma’am. That is appreciated. Yes… yes, I will tell her you said so. Very good. Goodbye, ma’am.” He hung up the phone and looked to Sophia. “The Queen, eh—said to tell you ‘hello’.”

Daniel crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Minor position, my eye.”

Mycroft smirked. “Your sister said something very similar not too long after first meeting me.”

“Mycroft,” Mrs. Cartwright said shakily. “I know I can’t begin to understand or know what you do—but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would lead to _me_ getting a call from the Queen of England!”

“Admittedly it is a bit of a shock myself, I assure you I wasn’t expecting that phone call.”

“But you’ve had phone calls with her before. Spoken to her. Met her,” Daniel said, not in question, but statement of fact.

Mycroft nodded humbly. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

Suddenly, a surprise to everyone, Mrs. Cartwright let out a giggle.

“Mom?” Sophia said, leaning forward and looking cautiously at her mother. “What is it?”

“Hold on, I’ll just go get it…” She stood and walked towards her room. A few moments later she was coming back out with something held behind her back. “Mycroft, dear, no matter how hard a time my husband gave you, I do hope you know how much he really truly liked you. As you know, he was quite the joker, and enjoyed a good laugh. I feel I should remind you of that before I give you this.”

“Give me something?”

“Paul wanted you to have it,” she said before a grin came across her face and she pulled out from behind her back—a black ball cap with a large American flag patch on the front.

In unison, everyone in the room started laughing. Mycroft couldn’t help the smile that covered his face as he shook his head and looked at the ball cap he now held in his hands. With a sigh he plopped down on the sofa next to Sophia, still looking at it. Just as they laughter had started to die down; he gave in and slipped the cap on to his head. Everyone began laughing again even more raucously. Laughter eventually turned into some tears, and the family grew quiet again.

“Mom, we need to talk about the wedding,” Sophia said after a few minutes.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Daniel interrupted before his mother could answer. “I’d be honored to walk you down the aisle, Soph, if you’ll allow me.”

“I think that would be beautiful,” Mrs. Cartwright said with a sweet smile to her son, then to her daughter. “I know it will be a difficult day for all of us, but your father will be there with us in spirit—and he’d want nothing more than for you to continue on in the happiness you’ve found with Mycroft, my sweet girl.”

“But—so soon—are—are you sure?”

“You can’t be suggesting that you delay? No, no, that won’t do at all, my dear.”

“Um, if I have to tell the boys their trip to London is rescheduled, I might never hear the end of it. In which case I’m shipping them off to live with you for a few months,” Janice, Daniel’s wife spoke up with a comforting smile to Sophia.

Sophia gave each of her family members a grateful smile. “I—I feel so strange feeling so happy in this moment. Thank you so much all of you for being so supportive of us when this is so hard for all of us.”

“You know your daddy didn’t want too much sadness.”

“Then perhaps he shouldn’t have been such a good man,” Mycroft said without a second thought at his words.

The family members all smiled at him and Elizabeth Cartwright spoke, “He thought you were a good man, too, Mycroft.”

Daniel snorted. “Dad would have absolutely flipped over that phone call.” He shook his head again before leaning it back against the sofa he shared with his wife and muttered, “The Queen of England.”

*****

Two days later, as the family stood nearby the casket awaiting the pre-service visitation to begin, Daniel elbowed his mother. “Mom, look, that must be them,” he whispered.

Two men came in carrying a huge bouquet of red, white, and blue flowers. Mycroft was tailing them, ensuring the flowers were well taken care. Once they’d set them down in an acceptable location, Mycroft waved them off and approached the family. “The Queen asked that I personally see that the flowers were safely delivered and placed in an attractive, yet discreet, location. Is it acceptable?”

Mrs. Cartwright took hold of the man’s arm and squeezed. “Mycroft, they are remarkable, and they look wonderful right where you’ve had them placed. Thank you so much.”

“Of course, Mrs. Cartwright. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She smiled. “No thank you, son. Just be there for my daughter just as you have been.”

He nodded and gave a slight bow. “It would be my honor.”


	11. Surprise Guests

Mycroft had just followed Sophia’s mother’s instructions and moved to stand by his fiancée’s side. He slipped his hand around hers and laced their fingers together just before he noted her slight gasp. “Mycroft, you didn’t—”

He saw that her attention was at the door and turned, a smile creasing his lips at the sight of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson standing in the doorway, looking around.

She pulled him along behind her as she approached, only letting go of his hand at the last minute as she wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck and squeezed him tight. “Sherlock Holmes, you came all this way—for me?”

Sherlock looked down at her with a soft smile. “Have you not yet come to realize just how much the entire Holmes family loves you, Sophia Cartwright? Of course, I came.”

She then turned to John, “And you too—I can’t believe you. What about Rosie?”

“Molly and Mrs. Hudson are keeping an eye on her while I’m away. I couldn’t very well let Sherlock cross the Atlantic on his own—imagine the nightmare he’d be with customs if he didn’t have someone to babysit him?”

She chuckled and smiled warmly at them both. “This means so much to me, you two. Really.”

“Mother and Father send their love,” Sherlock said, giving her another smile.

“As do Molly, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson—and Rosie, of course,” John added.

“Come on, let me introduce you both to my family,” she said, leading them all towards her mother, brother, and his wife and children.

“Mom, these are two of my friends—family really, from London. This is Sherlock, Mycroft’s brother—and his best friend and partner in crime-solving—John Watson. I’ve told you all about them. Boys,” she said, referring to Sherlock and John, “This is my mom, Elizabeth Cartwright.”

Sherlock took her hand and gave a slight bow. “Mrs. Cartwright, it is an honor to meet you. You have my deepest condolences on your loss.”

“Oh, the detective and the doctor, yes? It’s nice to meet you both. You’ve really traveled all the way here for us? Thank you so much. It’s so good to see that Sophia is surrounded my people who care for her so much.”

“There are many more we had to leave back in London, ma’am. Your daughter is well loved, and she makes it easy. You can be very proud of the woman you raised,” John said as he shook her mother’s hand.

“Why, Sophia, are all the men in London such gentlemen?” Mrs. Cartwright said with a sweet smile.

Sophia giggled. “Not nearly—and these three cause plenty of trouble at times, too. But they are terrible sweet and good to me, aren’t they,” she said, looking adoringly at both her fiancé and her friends.

“Aunt Sophie,” her youngest nephew, Jonah, whispered as he tugged on her sleeve. “Introduce us.”

Sophia grinned. “Sherlock, John, this is my brother Daniel and his wife Janice. And these are their two boys, Jonah and DJ. The boys are quite big fans of yours—they read the blog,” she said with a wink.

“This is so cool. Aunt Sophie knows so many famous people. Did you know we got a call from,” Jonah, leaned in and looked around conspiratorially before whispering, “the _Queen of England_!”

Sherlock turned to his brother with a raised eyebrow, and Mycroft merely shrugged.

“Boys,” Sophia chided them quietly. “I told you that call was because of Mycroft’s job. I don’t personally know the Queen of England.”

“You mean _Uncle Mycroft_ ,” DJ said with a grin. “Coolest Uncle, _ever_.”

Mycroft beamed with pride. He’d had many fringe benefits to his job over the years, but when he’d gotten the call from the Queen’s personal assistant saying that she’d heard from the Prime Minister about Mycroft’s absence due to his fiancée’s father’s death—he’d never expected such benefits as being deemed ‘coolest uncle.’ He thought, however, that it might perhaps be one he could become most proud of.

Sherlock leaned over and whispered in his brother ear. “There are so many things I want to say right now. But even I know they are inappropriate—and I wouldn’t dare tarnish the image of _Uncle Mycroft_ in the sight of his new nephews.”

Mycroft looked at his brother, blinking a bit in surprise. They’d both certainly come a long way in the past several years. “Thank you, brother.”

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,” Sophia’s brother, Daniel, caught the detective and doctor’s attention. “I understand you’ve been performing the duties of pseudo-brothers rather admirably in my absence. Though it’s no surprise that it takes two of you to wreak the havoc I do on my sister,” he said with a grin. “Seriously though, I appreciate you keeping her on her toes, and looking out for her, since I’m so far away. What do I owe you?”

“Well, now that you mention it, a few embarrassing stories wouldn’t hurt. I’ll give you my number—we’ll stay in touch,” Sherlock said with a maniacal grin.

Sophia groaned. “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all.”

“So, you’re a real doctor,” Jonah Cartwright asked with a bit of awe in his voice as he looked up at John.

“I am. And I served in the military, like your grandfather. A different war, though.”

“My nephew has aspirations of being a doctor, John,” Sophia said with a proud smile at both her nephews.

“Oh really? If you’d like, I’d be happy to talk with you about that later, Jonah.”

Jonah’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Of course. What about you, DJ? Any career aspirations?” John asked the older of the boys.

“I’m going to be a computer hacker, just like Aunt Sophie,” he said proudly, which made Sophia beam even brighter.

“Hmm,” Mycroft hummed, “Perhaps I’ll look you up in a few years. I might have a job opening, if you match your aunt’s talents in that area of expertise.”

“That would be epic!” DJ—otherwise known as Daniel Junior, namesake of his father—exclaimed.

“Indeed,” Mycroft said with a small smile before glancing at the people who were starting to filter in and view the casket. “It looks like visitors are starting to arrive. You should all prepare to greet them,” Mycroft said towards the family before taking Sophia’s hand in his again and moving her to stand on the opposite side of her mother from her brother. The two children wanted to flank and support their mother however they could.

*****

Once the visitation was over, Sophia noticed Daniel speaking to Sherlock and John. As she and Mycroft, her brother’s family, and her mother all moved to stand at the back of the chapel he whispered to his sister. “I asked Sherlock and John to sit with us since they are a part of the family. They’ll already be there when we come in.”

Her tears threatened again, as they’d been doing all day on this emotional day. “Thank you, Daniel. It means a great deal to me that you are welcoming them in. I know me moving to London has made things harder on you—having to handle things with mom and dad on your own, and—”

“Soph,” he said softly, using her family nickname. “Stop blaming yourself. Whether you’d been in London or North Carolina, Dad still would have died. It’s not your fault.”

Mycroft was standing by quietly listening and watched as Sophia fell into her brother’s embrace and held him tightly. “You always did know what to say. To make me laugh or make me cry.”

“Or make you mad,” Daniel said with a soft smile. “The trick is knowing which you need at the moment.” He examined his sister closely before continuing. “I’ve also asked them and Mycroft to assist as pall bearers. I hope you don’t mind. I think it’s what Dad would want.”

Her head tilted to the side as she looked at her brother in awe. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she looked to Mycroft, “And thank you.”

At the conclusion of the service, Sophia couldn’t help but be touched as her brother, her fiancé, her future brother-in-law and best friend, and two military service members carried her father’s casket out of the chapel.

The graveside service was equally as touching, as her father received military honors. She watched as John Watson saluted along with the other service members present as Taps played, and she couldn’t help but flinch at the three-gun salute. It was all overwhelming, but also left her with a sense of peace. Her father had lived a long, full life. He’d served his country, and his family, very well. And now, it was their responsibility to carry on. She held tight to Mycroft’s hand as the folded flag was presented to her mother and took a deep breath as the service concluded.

“You alright?” Mycroft whispered in her ear.

“As good as can be expected, I think. I’m feeling—peaceful. I suppose that’s as much as one can hope on a day like today.”

She smiled as she looked at the flowers by the grave. “My father would have gotten such a kick out of knowing the Queen of England sent flowers. He’d be cracking a joke right now, you know. But he’d love it. Thank you, Mycroft.”

“I’d not expected it, but it is a touching sentiment, isn’t it? I do believe you have the whole of the British government supporting you, love,” he said as he opened the door for her and slipped in after her.

“The British government hasn’t even met me.”

“Oh, but they have my dear,” he said with a wink. “After all, what was it you used to call me when we first started dating?” he asked as they all quietly made their way back to the cars that would take them back home.

She squeezed his hand and grinned. “Mr. British Government.”

“Indeed. I guess word _has_ gotten around of my impending nuptials. I suppose with my reputation even the Queen is a bit in awe that someone has broken through my icy exterior.”

“Mycroft, when you insisted that we had to address an invitation to Her Majesty, the Queen of England—I never anticipated that she’d see it, and that there was even a vague notion of her attending. After all this—I’m a bit concerned. Is there a possibility the Queen would be in attendance at our wedding?”

“While I know it will be a terrible disappointment to your mother not to see her new best friend,” Mycroft said with a smile, “I’m afraid the Queen will not be attending. I should tell you, however, particularly after this latest development, that there is a possibility that we receive an invitation of our own very soon.”

“An invitation?” she asked, somewhat nervously.

Mycroft gave her another encouraging smile and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently.


	12. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanted more of the Queen - you get her. :)

That invitation came sooner than either of them expected. As soon as they’d landed back in London, Anthea had let Mycroft know of the call from Buckingham Palace. That, however, was not where they were headed—with their wedding only a few days away, they were headed to Balmoral Castle, where the Queen and Duke of Cambridge were spending several months, as they normally did this time of year. As Sophia looked out the window down the long driveway to the Castle, she spoke, “It’s like something out of a fairy tale, Mycroft! It reminds me of visiting the Biltmore Estate when I was a child.”

“Ah yes, the Vanderbilt’s—good taste that lot had.”

Sophia had missed his comment, she was staring out the window and deep within her thoughts.

“You’re going to do fine,” he said as he squeezed her hand.

“I’m grateful I have such a good memory. So many things to remember.”

“Would you like to go over it one last time? It’s quite a long driveway, we have a few moments.”

“I wait to be spoken to, and when I have been, I curtsy and address her as ‘Your Majesty.” If she offers her hand, I may take it for a handshake, otherwise no touching. I refer to her as ‘ma’am’ afterwards. Not ‘mum’ or ‘maum’ but ‘ma’am’. I don’t show my back, which means allowing her to walk ahead. At lunch, speaking to her will be dictated by her, and will be determined by where I’ve been sat for the meal. I believe those are the most important things.”

Mycroft smiled. “I told you, you’ll do fine.”

“Knowing and remembering to do are two different things. But I promise I’ll do my best to not embarrass you.”

He squeezed her hand, pulling her attention back from where she’d come to stare at the floor in front of them. “You could never embarrass me, Sophia.”

Soon the car pulled up in front of Balmoral Castle. Sophia took a deep breath and as the car door was opened for her, she slid out, smoothing her hands over the skirt she’d carefully picked out with Anthea’s assistance. She straightened the top and felt Mycroft’s hand land on the small of her back.

“Please, follow me,” a gentleman dressed just as Sophia would have imagined a butler, instructed them.

Sophia did her best not to ogle as she gave the entry foyer a quick glance as they followed the gentleman toward a door to the left. She stopped when Mycroft did and waited as the gentleman opened the double doors and stepped just inside. “Your Majesty, Ms. Sophia Cartwright and Mr. Mycroft Holmes.”

“Please do allow them in,” the posh voice of the most honored woman in the United Kingdom spoke.

The man stood out of the way and Mycroft gave her the gentlest of encouragement forward with his hand at her back. As they entered, Sophia did her best now not to stare at the Queen, but noticed that she was setting a book down on the small side table by the chair she sat in. The woman stood and stepped closer as they approached. Once again, Sophia stopped when Mycroft did.

“Ms. Cartwright… Mycroft… you honor me with your presence at my home today. Thank you for coming.”

Sophia curtsied. “Your Majesty, the honor is mine. Thank you for the invitation,” she said and at once saw the woman’s hand extend, so she took in gently in her own for a slight shake. She then handed over the small, wrapped package she’d gripped in her hand. “A gift for you, ma’am, from my home state within the US.”

“How very lovely, thank you, Ms. Cartwright.”

The Queen then offered her hand to Mycroft. Sophia watched as Mycroft did the same, bowing at his neck and addressing her. “Your Majesty. It is an honor, as always, to see you, ma’am.”

“Please, do join me,” she said, motioning to the chairs that were across from her own.

They moved to the seats, but then waited the few seconds before the queen sat and adjusted herself within her own chair before sitting themselves. Once done, the Queen smiled at Mycroft. “I am pleased that you’ve finally brought your jewel for us to meet, Mycroft. Phillip and I had wondered if you’d keep her hidden away forever.”

“Of course not, ma’am,” Mycroft said with a smile and bow of his head.

Sophia was struck by the fact that the Queen of England seemed to have been discussing _her_ with the Duke of Edinburgh.

“I must say, curiosity is getting the better of me. I believe I’d like to see what’s hidden in this wrapping,” she said as she pulled the light blue wrapping off the flat rectangular package. She smiled upon seeing it. “Do tell me about this beautiful painting, Ms. Cartwright.”

“Those are my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains, ma’am. As seen from the Blue Ridge Parkway in my home state of North Carolina.”

“It is beautiful, Ms. Cartwright. I am surprised, but pleased, that our own country was able to pull you away from such a beautiful landscape.” The Queen held out the painting and an attendant who’d been standing at attention nearby came quickly over and took it. “I do believe I know just where I’ll have it hung. Joshua, please set it aside and we’ll have it taken care of later.” The man bowed and quickly went back to his post. “Since you have such a love for the beauty of nature, would you care for a tour of the Balmoral gardens, Ms. Cartwright?” the Queen asked as she stood.

Sophia and Mycroft were quick to stand as the Queen did, and Sophia responded. “Of course, ma’am. That would be lovely.”

*****

As darkness settled over Aberdeenshire, Scotland, Mycroft and Sophia were slipping back into his car. Once the driver had set off towards the hotel they’d be staying in for the evening, Mycroft spoke. “You were remarkable, as always.”

“I think I perhaps managed _not_ to embarrass you terribly, or get you kicked out of the British government.”

He chuckled. “You were wonderful. Did you enjoy yourself?”

She gave a small smile. “Actually? Yes. I mean, it was insanely intimidating, but I didn’t feel like I was drowning.”

“So, once we’re married—do you think you’d be up for attending the occasional dinner and event with me? I haven’t wanted to burden you with the thought, but you did so well today, I find myself giddy with the idea of having you on my arm as I navigate the muddy waters of various social gatherings that I normally detest.”

“You make it sound so terrible—not exactly the best sales tactic.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to work too hard to sell you on the idea. Was I wrong?”

She smiled. “You weren’t. Of course, I’ll join you, Mycroft. I knew there’d probably be some element of that when I married you.”

“My Sophia, always looking forward and anticipating what I’m going to do. It’s slightly disarming—most people can’t do that with me.”

She grinned and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “I believe we’ve established now, I’m not most people. What was it the Queen called me? Your ‘jewel.’”

He smiled back. “Indeed, you are.”


	13. Dearly Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to google and the internet for a little inspiration for the vows and ceremony--I've tweaked and rewritten some things I found online as inspiration. Sherlock's speech is all my own, though, and I'm rather proud of it.  
> Also, I'm writing and posting as quickly as I can--while also trying to quickly self-edit to get it out as fast as possible. Sorry if there are errors.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Sophia Cartwright and Mycroft Holmes in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable by all; and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Sherlock started to open his mouth from behind Mycroft and John cleared his throat from the front row where he sat. “Not today,” he warned under his breath, leading the others present to chuckle quietly. Sophia giggled, Mycroft did his best to hide his eye roll, and Anthea—who’d been shocked and honored to be asked to be Sophia’s maid of honor, just shook her head from where she stood behind and to the side of Sophia.

The officiant cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock before turning back and continuing. “To truly love, you must both enter your life together with vulnerability. To truly trust, you must, in good faith, allow for freedom and autonomy. To truly respect, you must consciously treat your partner with reverence.

Sophia and Mycroft, cherish one another. Never stop doing the small things that convey respect and trust. Hold doors, write notes, listen and strive to understand. Let kindness and tenderness be the rule, not the exception. Remember that you’re both on the same team. Together you will fight demons, defeat enemies, build a life, and forge a bond that is greater than the sum of its parts.

Now, Mycroft, do you, of your own free will, take Sophia, as your lawful, wedded wife, to love, protect, and defend—as long as you both shall live?”

Mycroft, holding Sophia’s hands tight, smiled, eyes glassy with tears. “I most certainly do.”

“And Sophia, do you, of your own free will, take Mycroft, as your lawful, wedded husband, to love, protect, and defend—as long as you both shall live?”

Sophia smiled and gazed into Mycroft’s eyes. “With my whole heart, I do.”

“And now the couple will recite their vows,” the registrar said.

Mycroft smiled at his soon-to-be-wife. “My dearest Sophia, I promise to respect, admire, and appreciate you for who you are and for the person you wish to become. I promise to support and protect your freedom; because although our lives are intertwined, your choices are still yours. I promise to seek a deeper understanding of your wishes, your desires, your fears, and your dreams. I promise to always strive to meet your needs—not out of obligation, but because it delights me to see you happy. I promise to be there for you whenever and wherever you need me. I will support you through misfortune and celebrate your triumphs. I promise to persevere when times get tough, knowing that any challenges we might face, we will conquer them together. I promise to treat you with compassion over fairness, because we are a team, now and for always. I promise to show you, every day, that I know exactly how lucky I am to have you in my life.” He then took the ring the officiant handed him and slipped it onto Sophia’s finger. “With this ring, I give myself to you, now and forever.”

Sophia then took a deep breath, and through slightly tear stained eyes, smiled with all her heart to her soon-to-be-husband. “Mycroft, my love, I promise to respect, admire, and appreciate you for who you are and for the person you wish to become. I promise to support and protect your freedom; because although our lives are intertwined, your choices are still yours. I promise to seek a deeper understanding of your wishes, your desires, your fears, and your dreams. I promise to always strive to meet your needs—not out of obligation, but because it delights me to see you happy. I promise to be there for you whenever and wherever you need me. I will support you through misfortune and celebrate your triumphs. I promise to persevere when times get tough, knowing that any challenges we might face, we will conquer them together. I promise to treat you with compassion over fairness, because we are a team, now and for always. I promise to show you, every day, that I know exactly how lucky I am to have you in my life.” Sophia took the ring from the officiant and slipped it onto Mycroft’s finger. “With this ring, I give myself to you, now and forever.”

The officiant continued, “To close our ceremony, I would like read a poem by James Kavanaugh, as a charge to the couple, and to us all: ‘To love is not to possess, to own or imprison, nor to lose one’s self in another. Love is to join and separate, to walk alone and together, to find a laughing freedom that lonely isolation does not permit. It is finally to be able to be who we really are no longer clinging in childish dependency nor docilely living separate lives in silence, it is to be perfectly one’s self and perfectly joined in permanent commitment to another–and to one’s inner self. Love only endures when it moves like waves, receding and returning gently or passionately, or moving lovingly like the tide In the moon’s own predictable harmony, because finally, despite a child’s scars or an adult’s deepest wounds, they are openly free to be who they really are–and always secretly were, in the very core of their being where true and lasting love can alone abide.’

And now, Mycroft, sir, you may kiss your bride.”

To the applause of all around them, Mycroft and Sophia leaned into each other and kissed, the final seal on their marriage vows. Once they’d separated, the officiant spoke one last time.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to present Mr. And Mrs. Mycroft & Sophia Holmes.”

The couple turned and smiled to their friends and family whom all stood and applauded them. As the music started, they exited through the center aisle hand in hand, exiting through the back door to be escorted from there to a private sitting room where they’d rest for a bit before returning. By then their guests would have moved to the opposite side of the room for drinks and appetizers while the ceremony area was transformed into a seated dining area with room for dancing in the middle.

As soon as they entered the sitting room and the door shut, Mycroft pulled at Sophia’s hand which he’d been holding the entire time, bringing her into his arms.

“Sophia,” he said gently and looked at her in awe, “Sophia Holmes. My _wife_.”

Her smile beamed with the joy she felt in her heart. “Mycroft Holmes, my _husband_.”

“My dear, you look stunning. You are breathtaking in that dress and your face is positively glowing.”

“That is because I am positively happy, my love.” She then ran her hands down the black satin lapels of his tuxedo. “And you, Mr. Holmes, are looking rather dashing today.” Her hands moved to his shoulders which were the deep, dark blue that made up the rest of the jacket before moving to tug gently at his bow tie. She grinned. “Rather James Bond of you, my dear.”

“You approve?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, I approve wholeheartedly.” She then took in and released a deep breath. “I can’t believe it’s finally here—we’ve finally done it. We’re married, Mycroft. I’m so happy.”

“As am I, love.”

As her hands went over his jacket one more time, she noticed something, and her head quirked to the side. “Where’s your phone?”

“My phone?”

“I usually feel it in your inside jacket pocket, just over your chest. Or your outer pocket. It’s in neither place.”

He smirked. “As observant as ever. As it so happens, I chose not to carry it on my wedding day. No interruptions.”

She smiled wide again. “Really? What if there was a national emergency?”

“Well, I suppose James Bond will have to handle it. I’ve borrowed his tuxedo and he borrowed mine. In two weeks, we’ll exchange rolls and I’ll be back to business,” he said jokingly.

She smiled back but looked at him curiously again. “Really, Mycroft. Where’s your phone?”

He gave her a soft smile. “Anthea has it, dear. Should there be something that absolutely required my attention, which by all rights on my wedding day would have to be the death of the Queen herself, she would alert me. But she won’t. The Queen ensured me she would take all necessary precautions to remain alive through my wedding _and_ honeymoon. Upon my return she has permission to die.”

Sophia swatted at her new husband and shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t even joke about such a thing, Mycroft. That’s terrible.”

“It’s true though. I will take my phone back before we leave for our honeymoon, but nothing is going to keep me from two weeks dedicated to solely to you, love. Anthea will be screening all my calls and only those of vital importance will come through.”

“So, do I finally get to learn of _where_ we are going on our honeymoon,” she asked as patiently as possible. Mycroft had practically begged her to allow him to keep it a surprise—and Mycroft Holmes never begged. So, she couldn’t help but relent. She’d even given him permission to have Anthea pack her bags so that the surprise could begin as soon as they left the wedding reception.

“Very well. Tonight, we will be staying in the Terrace Suite at The Langham. In the morning, we fly to Singapore and stay over one night at the Fullerton Hotel, in their finest suite. We will leave after breakfast the next morning for our final flight—to New Zealand.”

Her eyes lit up. “New Zealand!”

He smiled. “Yes, love. We will spend two luxurious weeks at a resort in New Zealand. We will relax, enjoy ourselves, and I will ensure you are thoroughly spoiled, pampered,” he reached up to stroke her cheek and finished gently, “and loved.” After a moment of gazing into each other’s eyes, he asked, “How does that sound?”

“Incredible,” she whispered.

“Good. I was fairly certain I’d planned well. Your mother and sister-in-law seemed to think it would please you.”

Her smile grew wider. “You asked my mother and sister-in-law for advice?”

“There was no room for error, I needed to seek the opinion of others who knew you well, and other women seemed the smartest choice in this instance.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door and a voice called out. “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, we’re ready to get a few pictures before we head in for the reception.”

Mycroft leaned in and gave a gentle, yet passionate, kiss. When finished, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “I can’t wait to begin the next two weeks with you, and the rest of our lives. How incredibly lucky I am to have you by my side for the rest of mine.”

She gave him one more peck on the lips before taking his hand and walking to the door. “And now, we celebrate.”

*****

After pictures of them alone and with their families, everyone moved to the dining area and was seated. After everyone was settled in, Sherlock stood and tapped his fork to his glass.

“I’ve been told by my brother to keep my speech short. Which means,” he said with a smile forming, “that I shall do my very best… to go as long as possible.” Everyone chuckled and he continued. “Seriously though, the last time I gave a best man’s speech,” he smiled and nodded to his best friend who sat nearby at the Holmes family table, “To my credit, I was solving a crime in my head while also formulating an extended speech on the fly. Since Mycroft has declared that no crimes can be committed in a 10-mile vicinity of tonight’s wedding venue, I should be able to shave at least five minutes off my speech. I was quite perplexed when deciding what to share this evening. By virtue of being brothers, we have shared a lifetime of experiences together. I’ve plenty stories I could share, plenty of embarrassing moments I could elaborate on. But,” he said, pausing and looking around the room, eyes finally landing upon his brothers, “I won’t. Consider it my gift to you, brother.”

There was a moment’s pause in which Mycroft was left in absolute shock. But then, Sherlock turned back to the audience and continued. “What I will say is this. The man whose marriage we celebrate today has quietly gone about his life saving this country, nay, I say, this world, more times than any of us could ever possibly comprehend. But even more remarkably,” Sherlock paused and swallowed, “He has saved me. While John Watson, my best friend, and the first to call me best man, has saved my life time and time again over the past several years, he has nothing on the man sitting beside me today who has been saving my life quite literally _for my whole life_. My brother,” Sherlock started to speak quickly, but paused and continued slower. “My brother,” he repeated and swallowed as he kept his composure, “has rescued me more times than I can count, from others, and even more, from myself. None of us know exactly the nature or extent of his position, but perhaps we’ve been given a clue,” Sherlock said as he reached into his inside jacket pocket, “By the way—Mycroft, Sophia—Her Majesty, the Queen, sends her best wishes,” he finished as he handed over a rather elegant looking envelope to his brother.

“As I was saying, none of us are quite fully aware of his position—but we can be assured that when one does the things he’s done, and carried the weight that he does—not just of the Holmes family, but of the nation—on his shoulders… one might tend to grow a bit jaded and cynical, cold as ice, you might even say. He’s seen the ugliest of the ugly, the most vile and evil of all, and with every battle won, he grew a bit more jaded, a bit more cynical, and… a bit colder. My brother and I both, not really that long ago, were both utterly convinced that to care was a disadvantage.” Sherlock then turned and looked at Sophia. “But then, Mycroft Holmes was faced with perhaps the greatest threat to the fortress he’d built around himself. The great American inferno of emotion, care, and kindness that is Sophia Cartwright.” A slight gasp escaped from Sophia, and Mycroft took hold of her hand atop the table and squeezed it.

Sherlock paused, for effect, and to let his words sink in. “If you’re unaware—which I can’t believe any of you could be daft enough to be if you are present at this event—Sophia Cartwright is _brilliant_. And it might have been that brilliance that first garnered by brother’s attention. She is a genius at the keyboard, and has spent most of her career as an unsung hero—having solved more crimes from behind the scenes than perhaps I, or my good friend Greg Lestrade, would care to admit.” Sherlock said with a kind nod to Greg, who sat with Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and several others from the Metropolitan Police Department.

“But while it may have been her brilliance that first garnered my brother’s attention—it was her wit, her charm, and her incessant—and if I might say, sometimes utterly bewildering—determination to be kind, considerate, and compassionate—that melted the Ice Man’s heart. And so,” he said, raising his glass, “we come together today to celebrate the union of the man who has saved us all, and the woman who saved him.”


	14. Just the Beginning

Mycroft Holmes would have never considered himself to be one who enjoyed dancing. But one of the things he’d learned about his new wife, it was that she loved music, and so before they’d ever begun conversations about what their wedding reception would include, he knew that there was no getting around having music and dancing. It wasn’t that he didn’t know _how_ to dance—at least when it came to the more traditional ballroom dances such as the waltz and foxtrot—it was just that, up until this point, he had never found it enjoyable.

Yet, as he stood on the dance floor with his new wife, suddenly the idea of dancing didn’t seem as tedious as it had previously. He found that if he kept his eyes on her, and was hand in hand with her, he could bear just about anything—even dancing while the rest of their family and friends observed. Just as he had done for John and his now deceased wife, Sherlock had composed a song especially for his brother and his new wife.

As the couple moved fluidly around the dance floor, Mycroft smiled down at his wife and whispered, “You’ve been practicing.”

“I wanted this moment to be perfect.”

“I’m dancing with you—it doesn’t get much more perfect than that, love. I presume you practiced with Sherlock—or John?” She nodded. “Something else I shall have to thank them for later,” he added then.

“It’s going to be terribly painful for you, isn’t it?” she said with a giggle. He smiled back, but they grew quiet as they listened to Sherlock’s piece, danced, and gazed into each other’s eyes.

Once the song had ended, they both approached Sherlock and Sophia pulled him into her embrace. “Sherlock, that was beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“I understand I also have you to thank for Sophia’s continued improvement at the waltz?” Mycroft questioned.

“Yes, well, it seems that both Holmes brothers lose their resolve when Sophia makes a request,” Sherlock said with a small smile to Sophia.

“Then could I ask, on her behalf, for you to stay out of trouble for the next two weeks while we are away?” Mycroft gave his brother the classic glare that he reserved for him.

*****

That night, as Mycroft and Sophia entered the Terrace Suite at The Langham, Mycroft couldn’t miss the gasp from his wife.

“Oh, Mycroft, it’s beautiful,” she said as she pulled him through the suite to seemingly investigate every corner. “Oh, look at the view!” she exclaimed as she pulled him out onto the terrace. “It’s gorgeous.”

He smiled, his eyes on the view of his wife rather than the city. “Yes, you are.”

She blushed, smiling wide and glancing up at him. “Thank you. For everything. This is amazing. I feel like a princess—staying at _the Langham_.”

“There’s more where this came from, love. This is merely a ‘pit stop’ as you’d call it. And, if you’d do me the honor, then there will also be more traveling in your future—if you can bear the idea of joining me for the occasional work trip—it might involve boring dinners and balls, but I think you’d handle yourself quite well.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’d really want me to come with you? Am I allowed?”

“Once we get your citizenship taken care of I can also look into increasing your security clearance to allow for a bit more freedom, and it’s not like you’d be involved in meetings with me—just the social aspects of my work. How does that sound to you?”

“It would be an honor to attend such events with you, Mycroft.”

He smiled. “Very good. Shall we check out the rest of the suite?”

*****

Sherlock did stay on his best behavior the next two weeks, and Anthea managed to keep all calls away from Mycroft until they’d returned to the country. Their two weeks of travel through New Zealand had been every bit of what they had both hoped—they made the most of every day and night, determined to enjoy every moment alone that they had. They both knew that upon their return to London life would return to ‘normal’ with both of them knee deep in work.

On the return flight, Sophia had a rather large stuffed animal in her lap.

Mycroft shook his head as the woman attempted to adjust herself in her seat. “I think you might have purchased the largest stuffed kiwi toy in all of New Zealand, my dear.”

“Only the best for Rosie.”

“We could have had it shipped back home; you know. Or ordered one on-line.”

“It’s not the same! Online it would have probably come from China or something.”

“You do realize that this one probably came from China to New Zealand.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I checked the tag. Made in New Zealand.”

He smirked. “Alright, I’ll concede that point. Still, Rosie can’t even read yet.”

“But _we’ll_ know, and John will know. And he is a good friend—to us, and to Sherlock. And Rosie is probably as close to—” She stopped herself short, biting her lip.

“Sophia,” Mycroft said quietly, concern in his voice as he reached over and gently forced her to release one hand from the stuffed animal for her to hold. She didn’t say anything and looked down at the brown fur of the animal. “Sophia,” he said again, still gentle. “We’d talked about this—decided that we were both of an age and profession that children weren’t meant for us.”

She gave him a small smile, and he could see a twinge of sadness in her eyes. “I know, and I still feel that way. Our honeymoon—all the…” she blushed. “Well, you know—it just… it got me thinking a little about it. I really am content and happy, I think. I’m certain I don’t want to attempt to have children at my age.” She frowned at herself then. “I’m sorry, I’m being very confusing. My mind is a little mixed up about it all.”

He pulled her hand up and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “No need to apologize. I don’t dislike the idea of you thinking about it. I think perhaps I’d be concerned if the thought hadn’t at least passed through your mind. Perhaps—maybe there are other things we can do.” He frowned then. “I don’t mean to discount what I know it would mean to be a mother yourself, but since we’d discussed that it wasn’t in our future. But we _could_ perhaps help with Rosie on occasion—if you wanted.”

Sophia’s eyes went wide. “You mean like babysit?” He shrugged. “Mycroft—I never thought you’d be open to the idea of having Rosie running under foot.”

He swallowed and shifted a bit uncomfortably about his forthcoming admission, “Perhaps you aren’t only female to have created a soft spot in my heart.”

Sophia smiled wide and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. “That is so sweet.”

*****

Upon returning home from their honeymoon, it was straight to Mycroft’s residence. She’d already packed her things up in her house before their wedding, and everything but essentials had been moved over. The last few things Anthea had seen to having moved over after having worked closely with Sophia so that she knew what were the most important things of her own that she’d want on display at the new home. When they’d returned, the home was already feeling like ‘theirs’ as opposed to just ‘his’ which Sophia deeply appreciated since she was feeling a bit anxious about how Mycroft might handle having her constantly around now.

Such anxiety didn’t go unnoticed by Mycroft. After two nights of missing dinner with her because of late meetings, it had also been clear to him that she was getting a little nervous about that as well. She always acted as if it was no problem, and indeed they had discussed that his job could and would have him working late many nights. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known what she was getting into, but he had a feeling perhaps it wasn’t quite as ‘okay’ as she’d made it seem.

And then one night he’d intentionally made sure he was home on time—but this time a huge case came up at Scotland Yard and it was her turn to be working late. On the fourth night of them not having had dinner together, Mycroft stepped into the sitting room and saw the large stuffed kiwi still resting in one of the chairs. They hadn’t even had time to see Sherlock, John, and Rosie since they’d returned. Both had ‘hit the ground running’ as it were. That night, as most nights before, the first they’d seen of each other since that morning had been when climbing into bed beside each other.

He spooned her from behind. “How was your day?” he whispered in her ear before placing a gentle kiss there.

“Exhausting. But we did it. Solved the case.”

“That’s wonderful. Will you be home by dinner tomorrow, then?”

“Unless something comes up, yes.”

“Good. I intend to be as well. I’ve missed you.”

He felt and heard her breath catch in her throat. “Y-you have?”

He frowned and tugged at her to encourage her to turn to face him. Once she was, he continued. “Of course, I did. You thought I wouldn’t?”

She sighed, seeming to be disappointed in herself, not him. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve gone and gotten all self-conscious. I was worried that perhaps you were regretting having me invading your space around here. You’ve lived alone for so long and suddenly to have a wife around. I try my best to not leave messes and upset things around here, but—”

“Sophia,” he said calmly. She looked up to him, eyes swirling with the emotions that had gotten away with themselves as she explained herself. “I _love_ you. I _love_ having you here. Is it different? Of course, it is. But I love it. I love every moment I get to wake up beside you, get dressed for work beside you—having you tie my tie and straighten my suit. Having morning tea with you and—though it’s been a bit lacking lately—having dinner with you. And while we both knew our jobs would keep us some nights—I think it’s bothered both of us that we’ve missed seeing each other these past four nights. We spend every waking and sleeping moment with each other for the most magnificent two weeks of my life and now we’re back to the normal grind. We can’t change our jobs, they’re a part of who we are, but I do promise to you that I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t forget how much I love you—how much I need you and want you here.”

“Oh, Mycroft,” she said before giving him a deep kiss. When they paused, she took a deep cleansing breath and felt the weight off her shoulders. “This is just the beginning. We’re both going to mess up, and our jobs are going to make a mess of things sometimes. But if we both just keep trying, I think we’re going to be just fine.”

“Agreed.”

*****

The next night when Sophia got home from work and hung her rain coat on the coat rack at the front door, the first thing that alerted her to something being different in the house was a shrill cry—”Uncle Mykie!” it yelled out.

Her eyes grew wide, a smile grew on her face, and she quickly ran into the sitting room to find Mycroft standing in the middle with Rosie hanging upside down from his arms.

Sherlock sat in a chair nearby, and John was on the sofa currently chuckling at his daughter and her ‘uncle’ Mycroft.

“Rosamund Mary Watson, what is your uncle doing to you!” Sophia called out as she approached. All Rosie could manage was a giggle as Sophia came up and took the girl in her arms, flipping her right side up.

“Missed you, Soph,” Rosie said in her cute toddler accent.

“Aw, I missed you, too, Rosie!” Sophia said as she and Rosie shared a ‘nose-kiss’, as they called them, with each other.

John was up and came over. “A belated welcome home, Sophia. We all missed you,” he said as he gave the woman a side hug, her other arm being occupied by his daughter.

“Yes,” Sherlock said as he stood and gave the same measure of affection. “Seems Scotland Yard has you too preoccupied for a visit to your favorite brother-in-law?”

She looked down bashfully. “Yeah, sorry about that. We’ve both been a bit busy.” She gasped in shock as she felt a kiss on her forehead from Sherlock.

“Nonsense. You needn’t apologize. I’m just stating a fact. My brother seems to have done an adequate job making up for the absence.”

“Has he?” Sophia asked, looking over questioningly at her husband as John took Rosie out of her arms.

Mycroft smiled and gave her a look of hope that she’d appreciate his gesture. “I invited Sherlock, John, and Rosie to join us for dinner this evening. I’ve ordered in, so no worries on what we’ll have to prepare.”

Her eyes lit up again. “That’s wonderful! I’ll just go get changed. I hate wearing my work clothes once I’ve gotten home.”

“I never understood the need for such things,” Mycroft said, not to be condescending, but just because he’d always simply worn the same suit and tie all day long and been comfortable enough.

“Of course, you wouldn’t, Mycroft. I think you were born in a suit and tie,” John Watson spoke up.

“I’ll be back down in just a few,” Sophia said as she bounced out of the room and up the stairs toward she and Mycroft’s bedroom.

A few moments later as she was changing into a jumper and blue jeans, Mycroft entered. “I hope it really was okay for me to invite them.”

She smiled as she adjusted the jumper around her waist, coming to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s more than okay. It was brilliant. Feels like a bit of normal in the midst of all this new. Did you give Rosie her kiwi yet?”

He shook his head. “No, I hid it in the closet under the stairs. I wouldn’t dare do that without you here—it was your idea, after all.”

“Good. I can’t wait to see her face,” Sophia said with a grin.

“And I can’t wait to see John’s. I’m sure he’s going to love having to cart that giant thing home with them.”

She snickered. “Perks of being aunt and uncle. Spoil them and send them home.”

“Then next time we shall get something particularly loud and annoying to stay at Uncle Sherlock’s house, I do believe,” Mycroft said with a smirk.


	15. More... or Less... than Meets the Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a precursor to something bigger I am working on in terms of a new villain. We'll see if it comes to fruition. I'm also thinking of going back and writing the year that we skip at the beginning between their first date and their first anniversary of dating. It would be fun to see how their relationship develops and how Mycroft changes over the course of that year.

(Chapter Song: “Not Alone” by Red)

Mycroft was in the middle of meeting when his phone rang. He glanced at the number and ignored the call. Then his phone chimed, notifying him of an incoming text.

_It’s urgent. Call me. -GL_

Mycroft sighed. What had his brother gotten into now? “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I need to make a phone call.” He stepped out of the room and dialed the number. “Detective Lestrade, what has my brother gotten himself into this time?”

“It’s not your brother.”

“Well then—I’ve told you before, I cannot use my minor position in the government to provide any assistance to your investigations outside the normal purview of—”

“It’s Sophia, you idiot.”

Every muscle in Mycroft’s body tensed, he thought his heart might have stopped, and his breath was caught in his throat. “Wh-what—is—is she—”

“She’s fine—well, she’s not fine, but—she’s not injured.”

Mycroft exhaled. “Then what?” His tone revealed his annoyance. If Sophia wasn’t injured, what would make Lestrade insist it was urgent?

“Without going into specifics of the case… Sophia was trying to decrypt some files that we were hoping would give us information we needed. We were under the gun, quite literally, as there were lives at stake. We ran out of time. Someone died. She blames herself. But, Mycroft, it was a near impossible feat—and we don’t even know if the phone has the information, we would have needed on it. Downey, her supervisor, tried talking to her. I tried talking to her. It became obvious that she wasn’t going to listen to reason because she bit Downey’s head off. We all know how out of character that is for her. He sent her home to sleep it off. I—I just thought you should know.”

Mycroft’s whole demeanor changed. “Yes, quite so. Thank you—Greg—for calling me.”

“Yeah well, I figured you might be the only one who can convince her that we can’t win every time. She can’t beat herself up. It wasn’t her fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Yes, well, I’ll let you go now. Thank you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He tapped another few buttons on his phone and placed it to his ear. After a moment, he spoke. “Anthea, reschedule all my meetings for the rest of the day. An urgent matter has come up that I need to take care of.”

*****

Mycroft quietly entered their expansive London home. “Sophia?” he called out gently, not wanting to startle her.

Listening carefully, he heard a sound he was fairly certain was the wine cabinet and followed his instincts, headed for the kitchen.

“Sophia?” he called out again.

“In here,” she weakly responded.

He stepped in and saw her leaned over the kitchen counter, the unopened bottle of wine he’d heard her retrieving sat unopened in front of her on the counter. She rarely drank, and it was just one more sign, to go along with her posture, that signaled she was still in the middle of her mixed-up state.

He watched her breathing for a moment, her back slightly rising and falling as she attempted to take in deep breaths.

“Lestrade called me,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry he bothered you. I’ll be fine.”

“No—no I don’t think you will. Not at this rate.”

She exhaled a deep breath, her body deflating. Slowly and carefully he approached, talking as he did. “You and I are more alike than I ever considered, you know?”

“How’s that?” she said in a quiet raspy voice.

“We expect perfection of ourselves. We think it’s our job to save the world and when we can’t—we punish ourselves so severely.”

“I should have—”

He’d reached her and cut off her words by taking her arm at the elbow and turning her into his embrace, holding her tight as she stood there for a moment with her hands hung at her side. Then, he kissed her hair gently and whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I—”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” he repeated.

Suddenly, her shoulders started shaking and her arms finally looped around his waist and held him tight as she wept into his chest.

“Come on,” He said as he adjusted her into his side and began walking her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs leading up to the many other rooms. He guided her into their bedroom and encouraged her to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt in front of her. “I’m going to go start you a hot bubble bath. You need to relax.”

“A bath isn’t going to change anything.”

“It can’t change what’s happened. But perhaps it can help you relax enough to see as clearly as the rest of us do - you are remarkable, but you’re human. You’re not going to solve every problem. Even your dear friend Sherlock has a few unsolved cases. I could go into great dreadful detail over incidents I was unable to prevent, despite my best efforts.”

She sighed, her eyes remaining on where their hands connected as he’d taken hers in his on her lap.

After giving her a few quiet moments, he spoke again. “So—bath?”

She gave a quiet nod, and he took it to be as much acceptance as he was going to get. He took his suit jacket off and rested it on the back of a nearby high-back chair and began rolling up his sleeves as he headed into their large bathroom suite to start the bath water. Several minutes later he came in to find her in her dressing gown but sitting in the same spot on the bed. He took it as at least a small, good sign that she’d managed to get herself undressed and ready for the bath.

She took the hand he offered and he led her into the bathroom and helped her take her gown off before she stepped up the tile platform and then carefully down into the tub and sunk down into the water with a sigh. He stood there a moment and smiled fondly at her before starting to turn away.

“Mycroft?” she asked quietly.

“Hmm?” he responded as he turned back to her. She was looking down into the water a bit sheepishly.

“Would you stay with me?”

A year of dating, a month of marriage, and she still managed to make Mycroft’s heart feel it might burst. “Of course, I will.”

He sat down on the tile border around the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall, and watched her—her head was laid back against the back of the tub, eyes closed. He sat quietly, unsure if it was just his presence she needed, or conversation.

“Tell me about your day,” she said quietly.

“Nothing too exciting. It started and ended with meetings.”

“Planning, negotiation, or strategy?” While Mycroft couldn’t tell her the details of his work and what he did with his days, they’d figured out how he could still at least communicate _something_ about his days to her. She had figured which he naturally liked and disliked and learned to anticipate his moods.

“Negotiation.”

“So, you weren’t terribly disappointed change your plans for the afternoon, I take it?”

“I’m not one to put off what must be done, and in this case I’d much rather it had been for more pleasant reasons than your distress, but—no, I’m not disappointed to put off these particular meetings.”

She gave a slight nod. “How is Anthea?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Fine, I suppose. You do recall that I don’t exactly engage in small talk with my PA?”

She sighed. “I know. I just want to hear you talk. I find it... relaxing.”

That made him smile and he’d quickly come up with a solution. “In that case, I’ll be right back.” It didn’t take long to get to her bedside table and pick up the book of poetry she had sitting on her bedside table. He came back to his place at her bath and sat down, opening the book to her bookmarked page.

“Beloved, my Beloved...” he began, and heard her take a deep cleansing breath before settling further into the tub.

*****

An hour later, her hair was twisted up into a towel, and another wrapped around her body, he guided her back into their bedroom. He smiled down at her and rested his hands on her arms. “What would you like to do now? Try to sleep a bit? Watch TV? Go out?”

She looked unsure of herself but lifted her hands to his chest. “Actually,” she said softly as she began loosening his tie, “I was thinking... perhaps...”

*****

Hours later, Mycroft shifted as he awoke. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep before her, but as often happened when she was curled up into his side, both having expended a considerable amount of energy, he had found himself unable to keep his eyes open and mind alert. He rolled to his side facing her to find her staring up at the ceiling.

He frowned, concern washing back over him as he recalled the events that had culminated with her sheepishly explaining that she wanted to ‘feel anything other than despair’ and had led him to their bed. “Did you sleep at all?” He glanced at the clock on her bedside table to see it was just before 1700. She shook her head and he sighed, gently stroking his hand over the scrunched-up stress lines on her forehead. After a moment, he clicked his tongue as he made a decision and quickly sat up on the edge of his side of the bed, slipping on his pants and slipping on his dressing gown that was resting over his nearby chair. He made his way quickly around to her side of the bed and held out his hand. “Come on.”

She scowled. “Where now?”

“We’re getting dressed, and we’re going to Scotland Yard.”

Still scowling, she sat up. “Why?”

“Because until you break the encryption and see what’s on that phone, you won’t rest. So, we’re going to go to your lab and stay there till you figure it out.” She finally held her hand out and he pulled her into his arms. He gave her the slightest of smiles to make it clear that he was about to be playful. “Sooner than later would be nice, because I’d love get take away for dinner and cuddle up with you to watch a movie tonight.”

“You’ll—stay with me. Till I figure it out.”

“All night long if necessary. But as I said—”

“Sooner than later would be nice,” she repeated.

“Yes. So, what do you say? Shall we?”

*****

Soon they were sitting in Sophia’s lab, her sitting at her computer scowling over data on the screen that was being pulled in from the mobile phone connected to it. Mycroft sat nearby patiently waiting and watching. If he was a praying man, he’d be praying for this to be over soon. He’d never seen Sophia as distraught as he had that day when he’d come home from his office at Lestrade’s behest. And while he’d been playful in telling her to work quickly, he would truly wait all night by her side if that’s what it took for her to find resolution.

He looked around the office, smiling as he remembered his first few visits here—when Sophia Cartwright had captured his heart in a move that had shocked even him. He’d turned his gaze from her towards the table where she’d so miraculously decrypted the laptop, he’d brought in with very little time to spare. His attention was quickly drawn back when he heard her gasp.

He glanced between her and the computer screen—it had changed in appearance but looked relatively blank to him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“It’s something. What is it?”

“No, I mean,” she turned to him, her eyes wide. “There’s nothing there. It had some of the heaviest encryption and security I’ve ever seen—and it was hiding _nothing_. There’s no data. Nothing. Just the basic phone programming.”

“Misdirection.”

She nodded slowly as she gazed back up at her screen. “A wild goose chase.”

He rolled his chair the few feet over to her and gently placed his hand atop hers that rested on her computer mouse. “Which means.”

She swallowed and looked back to him. “There was nothing I could have done.”

He nodded and moved to stand, his hand slipping to her wrist and tugging her up with him. Normally he found public displays of affection, particularly in the work environment, to be inappropriate. But this was Sophia, and she’d just found her peace after a trying day. He slipped his hands around her waist. “Precisely. Nothing you could have done. And even if there had been, Sophia, you can’t be so hard on yourself when things go wrong. The criminals are the ones who have done wrong—you’re the one who has done their very best to stop them. Do you understand?”

She nodded and moved to rest her head against his chest, ear resting against his tie and listening to his heartbeat through the several layers of fabric. He leaned down and kissed her head and took a deep breath, finally feeling at least a small sense of relief. Only a small sense however—for deep in his mind he wondered about this case and how it had ended.

After a few moments, Sophia pulled back and smiled. “Thank you, Mycroft. It’s not lost on me that under two years ago you stood in this office a very different man. One who, if faced with a woman in such distress over something like this—would not have responded in nearly as kind and compassionate a way as you have.”

“I assure you, my dear, had it been anyone but you, it might have still ended up that way.”

“I may be your soft spot, Mycroft Holmes, but you’ve gotten a little softer towards everyone, haven’t you?”

His eyebrow raised skeptically. “Perhaps. In the tiniest of ways. Sometimes. And it still depends on who it is.”

She smiled. “I’ll take it. So—cuddling and a movie? We still planning for that?”

“Does that seem appealing to you?”

“Very much so.”

“Very well then. Shall I wait at the car for you to finish up and inform Downey of your latest findings?”

“Yes, I should probably apologize to him, too.”

“Whatever you find necessary, dear. Though under the circumstances, I have a feeling he’ll be more than understanding.”

“I hope so,” she said before going to her tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

*****

Mycroft walked out of New Scotland Yard and directly to his car. Once inside, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

“Hello, brother. To what do I owe the tedious annoyance of this phone call?”

“I have a job for you, brother. A case,” Mycroft said with a frown, not taking the bait of his brother’s snide remark and going straight to the point.

“ _You_ have a case for _me?_ This should be interesting.”

“And to up the ante a bit—it involves Sophia,” Mycroft said as he stared out the window at the entrance of the building, watching for his wife.

Sherlock was quiet for several moments—no doubt, Mycroft assumed, spinning through the hundreds of ways he could kill someone if his sister-in-law had been hurt. Mycroft wasn’t the only Holmes brother with a soft spot for Sophia. “I’m listening,” Sherlock said in his deep baritone—even deeper because of his immediate concern.

“I’m concerned that someone could be targeting crimes to involve her and—emotionally compromise her. I need to know if anyone involved in a recent crime had any connection whatsoever to Sherrinford, a former staff person, family or friend of a staff person—anyone Euros could have potentially come in contact with.”

“You think our _sister_ had something to do with this?” Sherlock spat out.

“Listen, Sherlock—I want to believe as much as you do that she’s changed—that everything that happened with us, that our increased presence in her life, has somehow helped her. But you were as uncertain as I was regarding her reaction to Sophia before the wedding. We have to be sure.” Sherlock was silent. “Has she been behaving any different on your visits? Has she said anymore?”

“No. We just play the violin together. That’s all. You?”

“No. Silent as ever.”

“Tell me about this case.”

“Lestrade can probably give you more details. But I need you to keep me out of it, Sherlock. I don’t want to unduly concern my wife that she might be targeted. Even if it isn’t Euros, there’s something awfully peculiar about this case and how it ended…”

Mycroft walked through the phone conversation he’d had with Lestrade earlier and gave enough information about how it had impacted Sophia as to clearly help Sherlock see why Mycroft was so concerned. He left out the details of what had gone on between when he’d entered the house and they’d left. He then finished by explaining what Sophia had just discovered on the phone—or more precisely what she hadn’t. “I know very little detail about the actual case, as I was more concerned with my wife’s wellbeing than analyzing the finer points of this particular criminal’s behavior. I’ll leave that to you as it seems to be your expertise, brother.” He saw Sophia coming out the building now. “She’s coming. You’ll keep me up to date, but as I said—please do your best to be discreet, Sherlock. If not for me, then for Sophia. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Mycroft nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“Of course. Goodbye.”

Just then Sophia opened the door. “Goodbye,” Mycroft said before hanging up the phone.


	16. Work?

“Work?” Sophia asked as she slid into the car beside him just as he hung up from his call with his brother.

“No, Sherlock.”

“Hmm, you don’t seem in too bad a mood. He must not have been too difficult.”

Mycroft smiled. “No, rather helpful, in fact.”

“Helpful? To you? Oh, perhaps I should go round and check on him tomorrow. He must be feeling ill,” Sophia said with a smirk.

“That won’t be necessary, love. I assure you my brother is in perfect health. So, had you any thoughts about what movie to watch?” Mycroft questioned, hoping to shift her thoughts away from Sherlock in order to allow his brother time to investigate.

“I did,” she said as she slid closer to him and he put his arm around her shoulder. She said no more, just let the small smile she’d had rest on her lips.

His eyebrow raised. “Do I get any clues or am I to attempt mind reading?”

“As fun as that would be, I don’t think you’re quite _that_ good. Let’s see… a clue…” She thought a few seconds before humming out a chuckle. “Ah, here we are…” She shifted to turn and look at him, leaning into him further, hand on his chest as she moved closer into his face and whispered, “Of all the computer labs in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine.” She had a twinkle in her eye that he couldn’t help but be thrilled by—it was such a relief to have his Sophia back in normal form.

His own eyes lit up and he smiled. “You do know how I love a good classic. Casablanca?”

*-*-*-*

Much later that evening, close to midnight, Mycroft was slipping as quietly as possible out of bed. He put on his dressing gown over his pajamas and was almost out their bedroom door when he heard her mumble. “Everything okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Going to do a bit of work.”

She mumbled out an acceptance, “Don’t stay up too late.” She’d already grown used to his middle-of-the-night work habits and it didn’t occur to her that this one might be something a bit more personal in nature.

Mycroft sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath before opening his computer and pulling out his phone. He dialed a number and soon there was an answer.

“Mycroft,” was all he received as a hello.

“Anything?” he asked, his own curt response to his brother.

“I’ve reviewed the case. No connection to Sherrinford that I can find. I’m going tomorrow to check on Euros and speak to a few people in person.”

“And how do you intend to handle things with our sister?”

“Are you asking me to question her directly about Sophia, brother? Because doing so could create bigger problems.”

Mycroft sighed. “Alright, then don’t ask her directly. But pay careful attention to—”

“I know what I’m doing, Mycroft.”

They were both quiet a long moment before Mycroft finally spoke his concerns. “Am I reading too much into this, Sherlock? Was it just a random criminal who was too smart for his own good and decided to play a game with the police, and my wife just happened to be involved?”

“You’re asking me if your heart is controlling your mind, instead of the other way around?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

Another long pause, which made Mycroft worry even more. Finally, Sherlock spoke—but it wasn’t the answer Mycroft had hoped for. “I don’t believe you are overthinking it. I think there are threads leading back to _somewhere_. I know that’s not the answer you were hoping for, brother, but we will find out where it leads, Mycroft.”

“If it isn’t Euros, then… Sherlock, I don’t have to tell you that I have quite a significant number of potential enemies out in the world. I like to think that they are all safely behind bars or out of reach, but—”

“I never thought I’d be asking this question of _you_ , Mycroft—but do _you_ have a list, Mycroft?”

The elder brother swallowed. “A list?”

“Of your enemies. If it’s the drugs that could kill me—it’s your enemies that could kill you. I never anticipated I’d be asking you that question—but you need a list, Mycroft. And if I’m to help you—you’ll have to share it with me.”

“I don’t suppose I exactly have a _list_ , per se.”

“Then I suggest you start making one and start checking in on their status.”

“Most of them are dead.”

“Yes, well, we have personal experience with how effectively that stops someone from causing trouble.”

Both brothers knew very well that one could fake one’s death—after all, Sherlock had done so. And, they’d seen the effects Moriarty had well after his own death. Mycroft frowned further than he already was. “Yes,” he drawled out, “we do.”

“Try to get some sleep, brother. We both know how grumpy you are when you don’t sleep. And Sophia doesn’t need to see you stressed about this.”

“No—she doesn’t.” Silence fell between them for another few moments. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Mycroft.”

“Good night.”

Mycroft rubbed his temple as he pulled up a new text document on his laptop then stared at it as he took a deep breath. This was going to be tedious _and_ painful. But if it meant protecting his wife, he’d face the demons—and mistakes—of his past.

He’d almost started to type the list, but now, thirty minutes later, he was sitting with pencil in hand scribbling away at a notepad. Better not to have a digital copy of said list. It had been as painful as he’d expected, even worse, in fact. He found it rather excruciating to recount the old memories of past failings when faced with the joy that had been brought in his life. But out of terror that said joy might be taken away from him, he’d pushed through it. He sighed as he flipped to yet another page of the small notebook just before his phone buzzed beside him. He picked it up and found a text, not from Sherlock, but from his wife.

_How long do you think you’ll be working? -Soph_

He frowned. Either she hadn’t been able to sleep after he’d accidentally awaken her when he got up himself, or she’d woken up again later on her own. Either way, he wouldn’t have his wife going without sleep after the exhausting day she’d had.

_Be right there. -M_

He flipped the notepad closed and slipped it into the drawer before locking the desk and making his way back to their bedroom. When he entered, he saw her laying in the dark, face lit up by her phone as her finger scrolled along the side of the screen while she read something.

“I’m sorry that I woke you earlier. You weren’t able to get back to sleep?”

She shrugged and locked her phone, placing it on the bedside table as he lay his gown across his chair and slid back into the bed beside her. “I tried but tossed and turned a bit before deciding to read a dreadfully boring article about the latest microchip design upgrades.”

“Has it done the trick?” he asked as he slid behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

She hummed and snuggled further into him. “Perhaps, but this certainly will. I’ve grown quite accustomed to sharing a bed with you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh? Is that so, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Mmhmm.” They were quiet a moment and she took another deep breath. “Thank you again for taking such good care of me today, Mycroft. What would I do without you?”

He blinked, staring off into the darkness of their room as he placed a kiss on her head. “I’m sure you’d manage,” he said softly. In his mind, he considered—the correction question was, _what would he do without her?_


	17. Reminders

Mycroft Holmes sat uncomfortably in a wooden chair, staring at the fire that he was currently facing, and he waited. The crackling of the fire was drowned out by the sound of Mrs. Hudson vacuuming her apartment below them. His mind briefly went back to a moment that seemed both ages past and not long ago—when he, his brother, and John Watson had been in similar positions in this apartment, trying to deduce how to not die from a bomb blast. His grip on the handle of his umbrella repetitively loosened and tightened as he waited.

The rustle of paper brought him from his revelry as his brother flipped another page. Mycroft watched as a deep frown suddenly crossed his brow. “You’ve included _The Woman_ on this list?”

Mycroft scowled back. “Indeed, I have. Do us all a favor, Sherlock, and use your brain instead of another body part to consider this one? Then, keep reading. You still have another page to go.”

John sighed. “You’re sure that’s all of them?” His question was more sarcastic than sincere, and Mycroft only raised an eyebrow in answer and gave an adequate glare before turning back to the fireplace.

Sherlock finished moments later. “Alright then, I suppose it’s time we start tracking them down and narrowing down the list,” Sherlock said as he began ripping pages out of the book. Mycroft started to scoff but then Sherlock handed the first two pages to John. “These are yours.” He then ripped the next two pages out. “These are mine.” Then he handed the rest of the book, with the two remaining pages of names, to Mycroft. “And those are yours.”

Mycroft looked down at what he’d been given back, glanced at John, then back to Sherlock. “I notice, dear brother, that you kept _her_ page.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because you cannot discount her as a possible suspect,” Mycroft said, his voice rising as he did from his chair. “If something happens to Sophia and it’s because you were too busy thinking with your—”

“I care about her too, you know!” Sherlock shouted as he stood, effectively silencing Mycroft. “I don’t want anything to happen to Sophia any more than you do, Mycroft. She may not be my wife, but she is my sister-in-law, my friend, and I—I care.”

The Holmes brothers stared each other down. Slowly, John Watson arose from his chair. “I think that’s just about enough, don’t you two? How about we stop wasting time with your sibling arguments and get to work?

Mycroft clenched his jaw, and his gripped his umbrella even tighter. “I will handle my part from my office,” and with that, he spun around to leave. But he just as quickly froze when he reached the door and sighed. Both Sherlock and John stared at his back, waiting on him to speak. “You will both be at dinner tonight? Christopher’s, at 7.”

“I won’t miss her birthday just because her husband is a—” Sherlock started, but was cut off by John’s throat clearing.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” John said in interruption. “We’ll be there.”

Mycroft nodded and left quickly. John sat down at the desk with his laptop, phone, and two pieces of torn off notepad paper. Slowly Sherlock sat back down in his chair, pulled out his phone, and began working. There was quiet for a few moments before John spoke up. “Please, Sherlock. Tell me you _are_ going to check into her current whereabouts. Tell me you’re taking this seriously.”

“John, when no one else could understand, you of all people should—my family is of the utmost importance to me. You were there, at Sherrinford. You know what we went through. You know how important Sophia has become—to all of us. I was there, John. I was there the first time they met. I was the one who saw his whole life change when he didn’t even realize it yet. He’s happy, John. I never thought I would see Mycroft—happy. At least not any happier than he is messing about in my business. It’s why we bicker the way we do—if we didn’t, neither of us would know what to do with ourselves. You know that John.”

“Yes, I do Sherlock. But I’ve also seen what you would do for Irene Adler.”

“It’s not her.”

“But what if it is?”

“It’s not.”

“Sherlock—you promised your brother. This is for Sophia.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He was lost in thought, staring out the window of his apartment.

*****

That evening, Mycroft and Sophia sat around a table with Sherlock and John at Christopher’s, one of the best American fine dining locations in London. Sophia was fond of it, as the menu gave her a taste of home, but met Mycroft’s rather high expectations as well.

“Well, my dear, we’ve finished dinner and dessert is on its way. Would you like to open your gifts?”

Sophia’s eyes lit up. “You really didn’t have to—”

“You hear that, brother? We didn’t have to. Does that mean we can take them back?” Sherlock said dryly, before smiling at her.

“You’re evil,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

“Ignore him, my dear—I wouldn’t dream of your birthday being anything less than exceptional.” He said as he pulled a long blue box from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

Her eyes went wide, recognizing the color of the jewelry box. “Mycroft, you didn’t—”

“I most certainly did,” he said rather matter-of-factly.

“I’ve only ever dreamed of owning something from Tiffany’s,” she said as she held the box carefully. “I never thought I’d hold one of the boxes in my hands.”

“The box isn’t the present, my dear—perhaps you could open it and get to the real gift.”

She gasped as she opened it to find a silver charm bracelet. On it were three charms already—a heart, an infinity symbol, and an umbrella. “Oh Mycroft, I love it!”

“I thought you’d enjoy finding other charms as we travel.”

“It will be wonderful! I shall fill it with reminders of all the things I love and care about.” she spoke quietly as she stared down at it in awe.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I do believe we might be able to aid in the start of your effort.”

He and John both held up small boxes and slid them over to her. Her eyes lit up even further, though Mycroft thought it not possible till then.

First, she opened John’s, removing the ribbon as he spoke. “Really, it’s from Rosie and I. Mainly from her—she insisted on picking it out. You’ll see why soon enough.”

Sophia smiled wide as she opened the box to reveal a small silver rose. She giggled. “Perfect. A reminder of my sweet Rosie, and her dear father. Thank you, John.”

“Happy Birthday, Sophia.”

Sherlock pushed his closer now, and she raised her eyebrow at him. “This should be quite interesting.”

“John insisted a skull charm would be too dark, though I thought it would be an appropriate reminder of me, as fond as you are of the one that I keep on my mantle.”

She giggled and he smiled as she opened the box. Then she let out an even fuller laugh. “Oh Sherlock, it’s perfect.”

“A reminder of how we all first met.”

“A teeny tiny mobile phone, I love it!” she giggled, then looked around at all three men, beaming as she did. “Thank you all so much. These, and this evening, mean so much to me.” She took her husband’s hand in hers and squeezed. “After such a terrible day yesterday, I can’t begin to tell you how nice it is to be reminded of the wonderful gifts of friendship and love I’ve been given since coming to London two years ago.”


	18. Gone

When Sophia came home that evening from work, Mycroft was already there. “Hello dear, how was your day?” he asked as he watched her come through from the entry way and walk through to the stairs, already trudging up to go to their room. He presumed to get into something more comfortable. Though usually she would stop and give him a kiss before doing so.

“It was a day,” she grumbled.

He frowned. They’d made such progress after yesterday’s concerns, and he’d thought she was back to her normal self. He stood, folding his paper as he did so and leaving it in his chair before following her up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he followed her into their room. “Another bad day?”

“Yes.”

“A similar case?” he asked, and it was only his years of political and corporate negotiation that enabled him to remain straight faced, showing only the concern of any average husband.

“No. Just ridiculous things that made the day harder. Tools misplaced or not charged properly, Molly and I met for lunch today and this total jerk ran into my table and knocked my drink over—” she turned then waving her hand in front of her jumper. “All over the new jumper you got me last week. _Then_ , I was walking to the car after work and this other car drove past and went right through a puddle and got muddy water all over my trousers. I look a mess, and I feel even worse. It reminds me of a book my mother used to read me—something about a terrible no-good day.”

She was already pulling the soiled jumper off, leaving a thin undershirt covering her remaining underclothes, when Mycroft made it to stand in front of her and ran his hands over her now bare arms. “I’m so sorry dear. Another bath?”

She shook her head. “Not this time. I was thinking of some hot tea, a good book, and that new record you bought the other day when we went to the shops. What do you think?”

He smiled at her. “That sounds lovely. I’ll go make the tea while you get into something more comfortable. I’ll join you in the library.”

She smiled back and raised up to her tip toes to give him a gentle kiss. “Thank you, love.”

*****

Mycroft stood in the kitchen, waiting on the tea to boil, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

_Misplaced tools, spilled drink on jumper at cafe, puddle splashed from passing car. Normally I would chalk it up to a collection of chance. But not now. I fear we’re being toyed with, and Sophia is the pawn. ~MH_

_Patience, brother. We’re narrowing down the suspects. Can you review CCTV footage?_ _-SH_

_Not till later this evening. -MH_

The tea whistled, ending the text conversation as he finalized preparations and after picking up his newspaper from where he’d left it in the sitting room, carried the tea tray into the library where Sophia sat curled up in a large chair by the fireplace. Mycroft sat the tray on the table between their chairs and went to the side table to place the new record they’d picked out at a local shop. Soon Clare de Lune began playing through the speakers and Sophia hummed as she sipped on the tea. “This—this is heaven. This makes everything better,” she said as she smiled at him in such an adoring manner that he was certain, as always, that he truly didn’t deserve. “And now, tell me about your day. I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier. I was still a bit caught up in my own personal misery.”

“My day was caught up in some investigation and negotiations, paperwork—always my favorite,” he said with his best sarcastic smirk that made her chuckle.

“Oh, so your day was as lovely as mine, then?”

“Oh yes, quite lovely.”

“Well, at least we can end it on a high note—together.”

“Agreed,” he said, now with a sincere smile.

He opened his paper, and she her book, and they enjoyed the companionable silence.

*****

It had been a particularly rough day for Sophia, but in another one of his incredible displays of care and compassion (the ones that he swore to her were totally out of character in his interactions with anyone else) Mycroft had managed to improve her mood and lighten her spirits. They’d spent much of the evening enjoying the quiet of each other’s company, reading and listening to music. She’d convinced him to play a game of Scrabble which always ended in them playfully arguing over her use of the American spelling of words and his use of the British.

By the end of the game, she was ready for bed, and Mycroft was focused on getting into his home office to begin studying CCTV footage and trying to determine if he had been right—that there really were nefarious plans at work that somehow involved making things difficult for his wife.

They walked up the stairs together, hand-in-hand, and when they arrived at the door to his study, she rested her hands on his chest and smiled up at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “Don’t stay up too late working, okay? Come to bed soon.”

He slipped his hand into hers and lifted it to his lips. “I shall endeavor to be there as soon as possible. As much as I hate to use the phrase, I’m afraid I might need to—don’t wait up. It might be a while.”

She nodded, ever understanding of his odd work hours. “Then, if I am asleep, wake me when you come to bed. Okay?”

“I can hardly refuse such a request,” he said as he leaned in and gave her a kiss. “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, love.”

*****

Sophia entered their bedroom, a smile still on her face. She was just about to flip the light switch when a female voice whispered. “You probably shouldn’t turn on the light, Mrs. Holmes.”

She gasped, frozen in place with her hand still lightly resting on the switch plate by the door.

“Lower your hand,” the voice whispered again, and she felt them step out from their hiding place behind the door, gently closing it as they did.

Sophia did as she was told and spoke quietly and calmly, “Whoever you are, whatever you want—I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Oh, I’m going to get what I want, and you’re just what I need to do it.” As the voice spoke that time, she felt what she knew was a pistol push into her back.

“Who are you?” Sophia whispered, not daring to turn to see the person.

“Don’t worry, _Mrs. Holmes_ , you’ll know soon enough.”

*****

Mycroft rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was definitely something going on. And while the previous days emotional toll was quite intense, it and todays incidents were fairly mild. Just enough for Mycroft to take notice, but not enough to truly put his wife in danger. What game were they playing? Whatever it was—he hadn’t learned anything more about their identity from the footage.

He considered his wife’s invitation from earlier— _Wake me when you come to bed. Okay?_ And with that, he shut down his computer for the night, determined to do just that.

****

Gone. She was gone, and Mycroft Holmes was frantic. He’d entered their room to find the bed empty. Checked the bathroom. Empty.

The entire house was empty.

She was gone.


	19. Not You

Mycroft had no sooner called Sherlock and sat _back_ down at his computer, this time to review the footage from the last few hours, that Sherlock dropped quite a bomb on him.

“Is she wearing her bracelet?” his younger brother asked.

“What?” Mycroft scowled as he stared at the screen to see someone in a hooded coat exiting his own house with Sophia just an hour and a half earlier. While he couldn’t make out the face under the hood, he did distinctly see the glint of the end of a pistol being shoved into his wife’s back.

“I asked you if she’s wearing her bracelet.”

“I don’t see—”

“Just answer me, Mycroft!”

“She was earlier this evening. I’d have to go—”

“Hold on—” Mycroft heard him shuffling around with his phone. “Yes, she is.”

Mycroft’s scowl got deeper, and he growled. “How do you know that.”

“Because the charm I gave her had a tracker in it.”

“You—you what?”

“We can argue about it later, Mycroft—John, look at this.” Mycroft imagined Sherlock was showing John his phone.

“Sherlock, that’s just down the street. What are the odds we’d be—”

“That’s it—that’s why this case didn’t make sense. It was a trick to get us out here.” Sherlock put the phone closer again. “Mycroft, I’m sending you the address the tracker is at. It appears to have been stationary for at least forty minutes. We’ll be there in five.”

“I’m on my way!” Mycroft said, already running out of his office.

*****

Sherlock crept quietly through the warehouse from one side, knowing John was somewhere on the opposite side sneaking in as well. He and John had been given an odd case that he found just mysterious enough to investigate and it had led them to an abandoned house not too far down the road from this warehouse.

Mycroft no doubt had his driver speeding as he hastened to arrive. Had it not been for the fact that they were certain surprise was necessary, the older Holmes brother probably would have had the whole of the British Armed Services, Security Services, and Police Force, bearing down on the place.

Sherlock, however, was also certain this was exactly the way it was supposed to be. He was supposed to get there first. But why? Whoever had been doing these things to Sophia was surely trying to get back at his brother, not him? Unless it really was a trap, and they were hoping to get he and Sophia both. No matter what—Sophia Holmes was somewhere in this warehouse, and he wasn’t going to let her die. Not a chance.

Sherlock stepped into the largest open area of the warehouse and it was then she saw her, sitting in a chair—tied to it. From this distance he couldn’t be certain as he only had moonlight, but he was fairly certain she was also gagged.

He was slowly approaching when someone else stepped out of the shadows. He froze. He recognized that figure anywhere.

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Come into the light. Now isn’t the time to be shy.”

His heart thumped hard in his chest and his ears buzzed. “You.”

Irene Adler smiled. “Oh yes, it’s me.”

“It can’t be you.”

“Come now, Sherlock—you are, after all, the expert at identifying me.”

His head still spun as he tried to take in everything. “Tell me that someone put you up to this.”

“I work for no one but myself. As it’s always been.”

“Why? Why have you come back to do _this_? What value is there in playing cruel jokes on my sister-in-law? Playing with her emotions?”

‘It’s foreplay, Sherlock. Can’t you figure that out?” Her sneer turned to a frown. “And because I always get what I want. Now come along Sherlock. I’m sure your pet John will find her and set her free to her beloved Mycroft. You’re coming with me.”

“I don’t understand—why—why would you hurt Sophia? She’s done nothing to you.”

“Hasn’t she?” The woman, clad in a long, hooded trench coat that covered tight leather pants and top, turned her glare upon Sophia.

Sherlock stepped closer and finally gained a better look at his sister-in-law. And it was then that his mind went through every calculation necessary to bring him to the only conclusion possible. _He was an idiot. John was right. Mycroft was right._ He swallowed and looked at Sophia, who gazed at him helplessly. “Are you alright?”

She gave a weak nod, but she appeared in a pained daze.

“Your brother took all my secrets, all my power away. But I’ve one secret left, Sherlock. One that holds the only power I need now. It’s power over you, my dear. So, I will say once again—it’s time for us to _leave_ don’t you think?”

“You did all this—to get me to come away with you? And where would we go, Irene?” When he said her name, his voice trembled. As if it held some power over him. But then he realized—it did—it _had_ held power over him all this time.

Till now.

“Away. Together,” was her only answer.

“You expect me to go with you willingly when you threaten my family?”

“You come now, or I tell her. I tell all of them.”

“I won’t go with you. And you won’t tell her.”

“Oh, you think you can control _me_ , Sherlock? I think not.” She then knelt down beside the woman, leaning in close. “I have a secret for you, Sophia, dear. Would you care to hear it?”

Sophia whimpered and leaned away as best as she could from the woman.

“Leave her alone, Ms. Adler. _Now_.” It was John, approaching from the opposite direction.

“Oh, there’s your puppy now, Sherlock. That’s good though, the more the merrier. This _is_ juicy and John will surely love to learn something new about his best pal, Sherlock.”

“Irene, stop it,” Sherlock demanded.

Irene ignored him, “Sophia, dear, I’ve brought you all this way because you see, my dear—”

“What good does this do?” Sherlock shouted.

Irene Adler’s face snapped towards his. “It hurts you, Sherlock. Just as you’ve hurt me.” She then turned back to Sophia and revealed the secret. “Sophia—the elder of the Holmes brothers wasn’t the only one that fell in love with you,” she said, sweet disdain dripping from her words. “And if despite the unrequited and unreturnable nature of his love for you he still refuses to come with me—well, that is simply unacceptable.”

To Sherlock, everything seemed to go into slow motion…

…Irene pulled a gun from under her coat and drew it towards Sophia’s head…

…John pulled his gun and aimed it at Irene…

…And Sherlock dove to get between Irene’s gun and Sophia…

One shot was fired—

—and Irene Adler fell to her death. One single bullet through the temple.

It was then that, with a loud mechanical thud, a switch was flipped, and the warehouse lights came on. Everyone squinted. John’s eyes turned towards the source of the sound. Sherlock, still kneeling to cover Sophia protectively, turned as well.

Mycroft’s hand was lowering from the switch, trembling. Sherlock gasped. He moved back, putting several feet between he and Sophia, despite his desire to free her from her bonds. His brother approached with a near death grip on his umbrella.

It was then that Sherlock saw it in his brother’s eyes. He’d heard everything.

“Mycroft, I—”

But his older brother stopped short of him, ignoring him, and kneeling before his wife—face reflecting all the hurt she’d endured. “John, could you please see to the ropes while I undo her gag.”

“Of course,” the doctor said.

Mycroft’s hands trembled as he worked to remove the gag. “It’s alright, love. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

As the ropes around her finally loosened, she lunged for her husband and wept into his shoulder. Sherlock stood by, watching, waiting.


	20. Reconciliation

Sherlock had been near mute since they left the warehouse. John had checked over Sophia and sent her home with Mycroft. A team was called in to clean up after the mess left, this time of the _real_ Irene Adler.

As soon as Sherlock had gotten home, he sat in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his face, his eyes remained open, staring off into nothing. John had stayed as late as he could before leaving to relieve Molly from watching after Rosie. The next morning, Sherlock sat in the same exact position when John opened and came through the door. As soon as he entered and gave a brief look at Sherlock and left the door open as he went to pull two kitchen chairs into place across from their own seats.

“Mycroft called. He and Sophia are on their way over. I’m to warn you.”

Sherlock blinked. John figured it was as much acknowledgment as he’d receive.

“Sherlock,” John said gently as he sat down in his chair across from his friend. “The _entire_ time?”

Sherlock blinked again and looked up to his best friend. He knew precisely what he was referring to. He gave no acknowledgment, which was enough of an answer.

“That had to be incredibly difficult.”

Finally, Sherlock inhaled a deep breath and spoke. “My brother was happy. Sophia was—happy.” He swallowed hard. “What more could I ask than that?”

“Well, you could have asked for your own happiness. You could have done something about it. But you didn’t.”

Sherlock shook his head. “They were meant to be together.”

John looked at his friend carefully as he asked the next question. “And… _The Woman_?”

Sherlock reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and retrieved a sealed storage bag. In it were the remaining contents of _The Woman’s_ phone. It must have happened sometime in the middle of the night. Suddenly every ounce of rage within him and burst forth and he’d taken a hammer to it. “A gift—for Mycroft. If he’ll take it. She’s taken away two of the things I hold most dear in my life.”

“Not taken away, Sherlock—” a voice—possibly the sweetest voice he’d ever heard—called out from the doorway. He gasped as his gaze shot to the doorway where he saw Sophia and Mycroft standing, hands held tightly together. Briefly, Sherlock wondered who was offering who comfort and stability. Perhaps it was equally given between the two. Sophia entered and Mycroft followed, allowing her to sit first before sitting himself beside her. She took his hand again and smiled at him before turning to Sherlock. Mycroft’s face remained emotionless as she spoke, “Nothing has been taken from you, Sherlock. Perhaps made a bit awkward, yes, for now. But not taken away.”

“You came in with John, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question. But he’d been so lost in his thoughts at the time he hadn’t noticed. But he was fairly certain now.

“Yes.”

Sherlock sighed and was about to speak when Mycroft held his hand up to stop him. Sherlock stopped, mouth open. Mycroft began. “I wanted to hate you,” he said, his voice trembling with the amount of deep restrained emotion held within it. “I wanted to hate you so much. The number of thoughts that have gone through my mind have been countless, and that was the chief among them. How much, how desperately I wanted to hate you, Sherlock. To hate you for ever getting involved with… with _her_ … in the first place. To hate you for your own feelings. Yes, I’ve had so many thoughts spinning in my head I barely can catch my breath. But there is one—one thought—one image that I cannot get out of my mind. One action of yours that has made the way forward perfectly clear. Do you know what it was, Sherlock?”

‘I lied to you.”

Mycroft scoffed. “I can’t count the number of times you’ve lied to me, brother. No, this is not so much about the—deception—that you carried out so well over the past year and a half.” Mycroft stopped to consider his next words, eventually shaking his head and letting out a deep sigh as he considered it. “When did you become so damned noble, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“Sherlock, you had a _choice_. You could have saved either of them. _You saved Sophia_ ,” Mycroft spoke the last words slowly as his voice trembled, giving away the emotion with which he felt them. “You shielded her with your _own body_. You were willing to sacrifice yourself. But you’d already been doing that, hadn’t you? You hid your own feelings from your best friend, your brother, and the woman you held them for—allowing the two of us to be happy while you—suffered. When did you become so selfless and noble?”

“Perhaps it was when you were willing to sacrifice yourself to allow John, and me, to live,” Sherlock gave as a suggestion, referring to Sherrinford—when Mycroft had done his best to make it easier on Sherlock to kill him.

“Oh no, you’d started before that.” Mycroft said, purposefully looking to John Watson. “I think that perhaps, just perhaps, you had a fine example to emulate. And even then, Sherlock—at Sherrinford—you turned the tables and were willing to kill yourself before you would have killed John or me. But now we arrive back to the here and now. Sherlock—as much as I want to hate you—I cannot. How can I not forgive you for such a thing when you ensured that my— _our_ —dearest Sophia is still alive today? Am I upset? Yes. Can I fault you? No.” His mouth twitched. “You clearly have good taste,” he said, only then allowing a small smile to relieve some of the tension in the room. “I can’t promise it won’t be awkward, and that it won’t be difficult for me to grasp how we move forward. But by God, we will. Because that is what brothers do. That is what family does. And that is what _we_ will do.”

Sherlock stood, and Mycroft cowered back slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try and _hug_ me now.”

For a moment it was as if things were back to normal John snorted out a laugh—in the midst of the tension everyone’s emotions were running a bit high.

“I—Mycroft—” Sherlock’s eyes darted to Sophia as he stuttered. “Mycroft, may I please hug your wife.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow raised, and Sophia nudged him before standing carefully. She was still a bit sore from the beating she’d had the previous day.

Mycroft grumbled. “Very well.”

Sherlock enveloped her in a gentle hug, careful not to squeeze to hard. “Sophia, I am _so_ so sorry. Sorry that my past failures in judgment led to such terrible pain for you.” He pulled back and looked her in the eyes, his own teary. “Can you _please_ forgive me?”

Sophia gave him a soft sad smile. “Oh, Sherlock. Of course, I can. I can, and I will.”

He pulled her back in for another brief hug before releasing her and straightening himself. “There is one last thing I want to be sure you both know—that you both understand,” Sherlock said as he looked between Mycroft and Sophia.

Mycroft stood, resting his arm around Sophia’s waist, both for support and comfort.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I meant every word that I said at your wedding—during my toast. Everything I have ever said about how I feel about the two of you being together. Not a word was a lie.”

Mycroft lips formed into a slight smile while Sophia’s was, of course, more prevalent. She spoke up. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

John had stood and now cleared his throat, ‘I’d like to have a brief chat with Sophia, be sure you’re doing alright after your trauma.” He then looked to the younger Holmes brother. “Sherlock—you wanted to give this to Mycroft?” he asked, holding up the sealed bag.

Sherlock nodded and took the bag from John’s hand. John then motioned for Sophia to join him in the kitchen.

Sherlock shakily held the bag out to his brother. “I’ve made your life difficult on a number of occasions, Mycroft. I’ve managed to do so, yet again. I can’t make it up to you, of course—but perhaps this will prove my desire to do so. Or at the very least represent the distress I feel for what I’ve done, since once again I prove unable to adequately verbalize it.”

“Verbalizing feelings is an area of expertise neither of us has ever held, brother.” Mycroft said as he took the bag and examined its contents. He clearly knew exactly what the pieces were. He slipped the bag into the pocket of his outer coat. “Thank you.”

John and Sophia had given the brothers a moment alone, and John now turned his attention to Sophia. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve certainly felt better. Sore all over.”

“Headache?”

“Just a bit, nothing severe.”

“Any dizziness? Nausea?”

She shook her head. “I told you, she only gave me one good thump with the gun across the head when we got into her car. That and the gag and ropes. Otherwise, she didn’t lay a hand on me.

“Still—I know you two were determined to make this outing to meet with Sherlock, but as your doctor, I’d recommend you take it easy for a few days at least. You could have a concussion. In which case you need to let your brain rest. I know me asking you to let your brain rest is almost as realistic as asking Sherlock or Mycroft to do the same—but I’m serious. No computer work for a couple days. And I want to know if the headaches get worse, if you start feeling nauseous or notice other strange symptoms. Okay?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, Dr. Watson. I can assure you that Mycroft is a rather strict nurse. I won’t be misbehaving.”

They made their way back towards the living room where Sherlock and Mycroft seemed to have just finished their own conversation.

“Ready to go home?” Mycroft asked his wife, a loving look in his eye that reminded Sherlock of why he’d made every choice he had in the past year and a half.

She nodded and smiled, taking his hand in hers and allowing him to guide her towards the door. They’d stepped through the doorway to leave before Mycroft turned back. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” the brother said, turning back from where he’d been headed towards his chair.

“I will have dinner prepared at 6 o’clock this evening. I’ll expect you both,” he said glancing between his brother and John. “As well as Rosie. Don’t be late.”

Sherlock simply nodded to his brother, but once the couple had left, he’d sat down in his chair and allowed a small smile to cross his face as he returned to his ‘thinking pose’.

“So, not all is lost, then?” John asked.

“Indeed.”

“You know, Sherlock—if you would have told me two years ago that your brother would have fallen in love and gotten married, I’d have thought you had finally lost your mind. But here we are. It goes to prove the point—perhaps anyone can find love—perhaps yours is out there.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s almost statistically impossible to find a compatible match. How would I ever communicate, much less—you know—all the other things.”

“You communicate with me—and Mycroft, and Sophia…”

“Different.”

“Mycroft would have said the same, you know—that it was statistically impossible. Someone’s going to walk into your life, Sherlock—and when they do, you’ll know how to communicate with them.”


	21. Conclusion

That evening as Mycroft sat at the table with his wife, his brother, John Watson, and dear little Rosie—he considered how far he’d come in life the past two years. He’d long considered himself a success in his endeavors, at least in the realm of business. He’d always considered personal endeavors tedious and a necessity rather than preferred. As much as he’d always deeply cared for his family, he’d always written it off as a necessity of blood relation, not a matter of the heart.

Of course, Mycroft Holmes always considered his heart to be frozen and useless—until Sophia Cartwright walked in. He should have expected that Sherlock might have harbored some feelings for the woman as well—after all, both Holmes brothers suffered from a similar affliction, high intelligence and a refusal to believe they could use both their intellect and their emotions without one interfering with the other.

John Watson had started the process of awareness for Sherlock, with Sophia only opening his eyes further. For Mycroft, Sophia had ripped right through every wall, every layer of ice, that he’d ever built around his heart.

Now, as Rosie Watson regaled all present with a tale of a worm she’d found at the park that day, Mycroft looked around the table and allowed himself a small smile. Yes, he was pleased with how things had turned out, and he wondered—what did the future hold for he, his family, and friends?

—THE END—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed this story! I've decided it's going to be part one of a three part series, the next one will be a story for Sherlock, and the third for John. :)


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